A Bird in the Hand
by Maddie
Summary: Complete: Riker returns to the Enterprise after months as a prisoner on Corvas Seven.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Bird in the Hand  
Author: Maddie  
Rating: T  
Genre: Drama/Angst/Hurt-comfort  
Summary: Will Riker returns to the Enterprise after months as a prisoner on Corvas Seven.  
Disclaimer: The characters belong to someone else, but the plot belongs to me

Author's Notes: This story was originally published in hard copy in the Orion Press Fanzine Number One, Issue 3, edited by Joan Winston

A Bird in the Hand

By, Maddie

Deanna Troi glanced in her mirror, absently patting her hair into place as she rushed out the door. He was due in a few minutes and she wanted to be there to greet him, to welcome him back on board, and secretly, to assure herself he was truly all right. Deep inside, she quelled the uneasiness that refused to go away, that had prodded at her since she had read his medical report over two standard months ago. The information therein had deeply disturbed her, on more than a professional level. Every sense, every instinct, told her to be cautious, but her heart only told her to be happy, to rejoice that he was back and let him know his friends still needed his warm humor, his expertise, and the strength around which his junior officers so often rallied. He had to know he could still provide the same stable core.

"Deck _Six," _Troi said as she stepped into the turbolift

Again her hand went nervously to her hair, and then she composed herself, knowing it was vital she not appear the clucking mother hen, though part of her wanted desperately to hold him and assure him nothing had changed. The psychologist in her knew better, but the professional warred with the personal on all levels in this matter, and though she wanted to be with him these last months, she knew it was best to let an impersonal, uninvolved therapist handle his case.

With a deep calming breath, she stepped from the turbolift, and walked quickly to the transporter room. She breezed in, trying to project an air of business-as-usual professionalism, while her insides churned. "Good day, Lieutenant," she said to the young woman manning the transporter controls.

"How can I help you, Counselor Troi?' the technician asked.

"Commander Riker is due on board and I wanted to greet him."

The technician eyed her quizzically.

"We're old friends," Troi responded quickly, feeling compelled to explain her interest. "And he has been on assignment planet side for several months."

The lieutenant nodded again. Troi quickly ran through her mental files, trying to place the young officer, when it occurred to her, Lieutenant Ambrose had come aboard the _Enterprise _in Riker's absence.

The young woman looked at Troi and raised her eyebrows in a facial shrug. "I am familiar with Commander Riker's name, Counselor, but no one is scheduled to beam up from Starbase 112 for the next two hours.

"I received a communication stating that Will, uh, Commander Riker, would be beaming aboard on the hour.

"I'm sorry if there was a misunderstanding, Counselor, but that request was cancelled several hours ago. I understand the Commander is transferring to the _Enterprise _on one of the cargo shuttles.

"Cargo shuttle?" Warning flashers went off in Troi's head. She turned and hurried out of the transporter room. It occurred to her, as she walked to the turbolift, she had not asked when he was scheduled to arrive, but she did not dare ask Lieutenant Ambrose. She was all too aware of the wave of bemused puzzlement emanating from the confused Lieutenant. She must think all her officers are daft, Deanna thought, forgetting her embarrassment as it was overwhelmed by a wash of deep concern.

The shuttle craft settled to the deck, a squat, waddling creature compared to many atmospheric craft. No need for sleek aerodynamics in the airless void of space, and it certainly was functional. Like so much of my life, Ro Laren thought bitterly. Artistry and grace sacrificed to utilitarian survival. She waited while the outer doors of the cargo bay slid closed and atmospheric pressure within the area returned to ship normal.

Ro thought she saw figures moving in the forward compartment of the shuttle. She stepped unobtrusively into the bay, and stood a few meters from the craft. When the hatchway finally hissed open, Ro found herself holding her breath. What was she going to say?

She did not have time to answer her own questions.

His tall form ducked slightly to avoid hitting his head as he stepped from the shuttle hatch, followed by a squat Tellurian. The Tellurian bowed quickly, twice in rapid succession, the customary farewell gesture among his people, and then walked toward the rear of the shuttle to supervise its unloading. For a moment the shuttle's passenger stood alone, the expression on his face unreadable. Ro tried to imagine his feelings. Was he glad to be back on board the _Enterprise? _Did he feel like he had come home? Unlike many of her crewmates, Ro often felt at loose ends on board the _Enterprise. _It did not feel like home to her. No place ever really had, but she knew of _his _feelings for this ship, or at least what the crew had talked about in his absence. His refusal to leave her to accept a command of his own, though he had been presented with the opportunity on three different occasions. Ro had difficulty understanding such loyalty to a person, much less to a vessel or a way of life. Trusting others was not one of her strengths.

As Ro watched, he looked around, assuring himself he was, in reality, back aboard, and then he took a deep breath, bent to pick up his carryall, and started toward the cargo bay exit. It was then, she stepped from the shadowy corner which had concealed her presence, and placed herself deliberately in his path. He stopped short, his face darkening for a brief instant, and Ro braced herself for a reprimand. She was off duty, and she had every right to be here, but she had, all too often, been corrected for her unorthodox approach to shipboard procedure. Why should now be an exception? Before this assignment he seemed to take particular interest in her activity and went out of his way to correct her procedural lapses, even while indirectly praising her inventiveness. She found that confusing, but she found much about Starfleet puzzling and contradictory.

"Commander Riker," she said at last, crushing the silence.

"Ensign Ro," Riker answered her, nodding his head in acknowledgment of her presence.

Ro shifted her weight, unsure of how to continue. The absence of conversation became a protracted emptiness. Then he stepped aside, to walk around her. Instead of blocking his way, she fell in step beside him, easily matching her stride to his longer one. The awkwardness of the moment in the cargo bay hung around them. She knew she had to speak, but could not find the words, her brashness failing her. They moved to the nearest turbolift, Riker entered the command for his quarters, and then they rode together in dogged silence. When the lift door opened at their destination, Riker stepped through and as he did so he spoke.

"Do you have something you wish to discuss, Ensign, or are you just going to shadow me?"

"You know damned well..." Ro exploded; rankled by the tense silence, then she bit her tongue. His manner had been coolly professional, not accusatory. He had stopped walking and now stood opposite her in a quiet intersection between two corridors. She squared her own shoulders and spoke quickly, but firmly. "On Corvas Seven, I took action contrary to standard procedure. Action that placed the mission and the landing party in jeopardy.'

"Something that's never appeared to bother you before," Riker answered coldly.

_Damn him, _Ro thought. She would have preferred anger to this calm. "I...I felt an apology was in order."

"An apology," Riker echoed, the corners of his mouth twitching in a grimace, or a stifled smile, she could not be sure. "From Ensign Ro Laren, who operates on her own set of standards, regardless of the results, or what the rest of the universe might find acceptable?"

Ro looked at her feet, forcing herself to breathe regularly, burying the anger that swelled in her. Then she squared her shoulders and looked Riker straight in the eye. "Yes, sir, an apology. My actions are directly responsible for—"

"—the last six months of my life," Riker finished, his voice harsh and edged with ill-concealed bitterness. "Well, don't apologize, Ensign. You acted precisely as you were supposed to."

Startled, Ro felt her mouth drop open, and then quickly snapped it shut.

"I was counting on you," Riker continued, "to do exactly what you did do, Ensign. I was certain you would react to the situation on Corvas Seven in your own independent fashion, and place me exactly •where I wanted to be without blowing my cover."

"You wanted me to make a mistake?"

"I depended on it,' Riker answered tersely.

For a moment, Ro stood toe to toe with her first officer, anger and frustration radiating from her. Then he nodded his head. "You are dismissed, Ensign,' Riker said quietly.

Ro hesitated a moment longer, biting back an acid retort, then she spun on her heel and stormed down the corridor.


	2. Chapter 2

For some reason known only to the gods, I am unable to insert asterisks between scene changes in this section. Even though they are in the document I upload, they disappear here. I apologize if that makes the scene confusing. I am going to try using x's or something equally simple. Maddie

x x x x

Troi rounded the bend in the corridor just as Ensign Ro crashed past her. Ro looked as though she was on the verge of tears and Troi was startled by the intensity of emotion from the stormy ensign. Troi was momentarily torn between her original goal, to intercept Riker, and following the obviously agitated Ro. In the end she chose to go to Riker. Sensing his nearness, she slowed her pace, crossing the next intersection and drawing to a stop. She remained at a slight distance, unobserved for the moment. Her heart leapt when she saw him, happiness causing tightness in her throat as cautious concern created butterflies in her stomach.

Riker stood alone in the corridor, an uncharacteristic slump rounding his proud shoulders. His eyes were closed. He seemed in pain, or was remembering an inner suffering, and as Troi dropped her mental barrier she was awash in an agony of self doubt, and more disturbing, the memory of crippling fear. She took a step forward, as he straightened, clamping down on his rampant emotions, until all she could sense was cold reserve.

Taking another step towards him, she spoke before he could become aware she had eavesdropped. "Will." She felt like a giddy schoolgirl as he turned toward her, a half smile touching his lips, a softness lighting his blue eyes. "Oh, Will," she said again, rushing to him and burying herself in his arms, the touch and scent of him closing on her senses as she abandoned all other awareness, allowing herself to drown in his presence. "Oh, Will, I'm so glad you're back. I've missed you so." Then the tears were flowing down her cheeks, and he was talking softly to her, caressing her, holding her, and she in turn clung tightly to him, realizing, not for the first time, how much she had missed him, how empty her life had been knowing the strong, yet tender essence of him had been missing, perhaps irretrievably. There had been moments when she thought he would never be part of her life again. Whatever had gone awry on Corvas Seven had almost stolen him from her.

"Hey, Counselor," Riker said, "why the tears?"

Troi looked up at him. "I just realized I might never have seen you again."

"But you have."

"Yes," she laughed. "I have." Taking his face firmly in her tiny hands, she kissed him, with a passion she thought she had buried behind a wall of professionalism years ago.

"Deanna," Riker said as he came up for breath, "aren't you the one who's always maintained our relationship should be platonic as long as we serve aboard the same ship?"

"Don't remind me of what I always say," Deanna said, laughing at his gentle teasing, and digging him in the ribs with her finger.

"Well, in that case," Riker laughed, "my quarters aren't that far away, provided I still have quarters on this ship."

"Right this way, Commander," Deanna said affecting a mock curtsey. Linking arms, they walked down the corridor in companionable silence, content with a closeness that required no conversation. Finally Troi spoke again, "I tried to catch you in the transporter room," she said as casually as possible, knowingly baiting him," but I must have missed you."

"I was able to get away from Starbase a few minutes earlier than I'd expected," Riker said.

Troi was well aware of a half-truth of his statement.

No mention was made of the shuttlecraft. She was inwardly concerned when he made no effort to correct her assumption he had arrived via transporter.

"I was intercepted by Ensign Ro," he continued.

"I saw her in the corridor," Troi commented. "She seemed upset.

"Did she?"

"Yes." Again Troi realized Riker was deliberately keeping something from her. In fact, his manner had turned carefully guarded.

"We only exchanged a few words. I hope I didn't say anything to upset her."

"You were on a mission together. She came back. You did not. Perhaps, she simply was relieved you had returned"

"Perhaps. With Ensign Ro, it's sometimes hard to predict her reactions. She's a complicated creature. But," he said, drawing to a halt in front of his quarters, "I really didn't want to discuss her right now."

Riker's arm tightened around hers before he gave the command for his door to open. Stepping inside, Troi sensed trepidation from her companion.

"Everything is as you left it." Troi had personally made sure everything remained as he had left it.

"Yes," he said, stepping inside and cautiously running a finger over the trombone propped in the corner, waiting for its owner. "Yes, everything seems in order."

The hatch slid shut behind them, and in the heavy silence, Troi stepped up to Riker. Standing behind him, she slipped her arms around his waist. "I'm so glad your back," she whispered resting her cheek against his back. She inhaled deeply, knowing now what had been missing in the carefully maintained quarters. Though all Riker's belongings were in order, without his presence they were only so much inventory. In his absence, they had seemed sterile museum pieces fit only for a shrine. Like an old house, that stands empty too long, this place had lost life. To be complete, it needed the aura of its owner, his presence, even his untidiness.

Turning to face her, Riker gently cupped her face in his hands. "I missed you, too." He bent to kiss her, as she had kissed him in the corridor.

Troi was left breathless, but before any further response was possible, they were interrupted by the beeping of intraship communications.

"Yes," Riker said at last, stroking Troi's hair with his hand.

"Commander Riker," came an unfamiliar voice. "Your presence is requested in the Captain's ready room at the earliest convenience."

"Acknowledged." Sighing, the commander stepped back and held her at arm's length. "It seems duty calls. And I suppose I should get back into the routine."

Troi nodded, not trying to hide her disappointment.

"I'll accompany you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Riker answered.

x x x x

"Welcome back, Number One." Picard rose from his desk, extending his hand as he did. His handshake was firm, his greeting genuinely warm. This rarely expressed side of the captain's personality warmed Riker, relaxed him, as he had not felt relaxed since his return barely an hour ago. For months, he had longed for the moment he would step back onto the Enterprise, imagining it, dreaming of it. That sustained him when all hope drained away. And yet, when he arrived, he felt empty and unfulfilled. True, he had snuck back aboard, hoping to avoid any friends who might belabor him with curiosity or worse yet, sympathy. He was relieved that the only being on the bridge he considered a close friend had been Worf. And Worf's greeting spoke volumes of the Klingon's respect for privacy and the pleasure at his return. The remainder of the bridge crew was literal unknowns, having arrived shortly before his absence. Both Geordi and Data were currently in engineering and Troi had accompanied him to the bridge. Slipping into the chair opposite Picard's immaculate desk, Riker almost felt as though nothing had changed.

"Well be breaking orbit soon," Picard was saying, "and I wanted to update you on our next mission. Fairly routine, as missions go. Mapping gaseous anomalies in the Beta Genah sector. There have also been reports of erratic subspace interference in that sector. Starfleet wants us to co-ordinate this chatter with the anomalies if possible."

"Sounds relatively basic," Riker answered. He felt himself cringing inwardly at the thought of the Beta Genah sector. It was far too close to Corvas.

"Are you all right, Will?"

Riker looked up with a start, aware he had not been listening. "Yes, quite all right, Captain."

"You suddenly went quite pale."

"No problem, Captain. Just a bit tired."

Picard stood and walked around his desk, stopping to sit on its corner, and scrutinize the commander. Riker fought the insane urge to squirm. This was his captain, a friend, a man he would willingly lay down his life for, yet this intense analysis made him feel like an academy freshman undergoing his first snap inspection.

"Will," Picard's voice softened, dropping out of command mode and into the voice of a concerned friend. "I've read your account of what happened on Corvas Seven, and afterward. I have complete confidence in your abilities. You are still the first officer of this vessel. That never changed, not even in your absence."

"I appreciate your faith in me, sir."

Picard leaned over and clapped a hand on Riker's shoulder. "Then stop being so damned formal, Will. Welcome back. We really did miss you."

x x x x

Troi leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily. It seemed however she worded her report, it was less than favorable. She read through it one more time, then with a decisive stab of her forefinger, erased the words from her computer screen. She closed and stored the file for another time. Normally, she was a stickler for completing any report to Starfleet in a timely fashion, but this time it could wait. Scanning her daily log, she was about to page her next appointment when her communicator beeped.

"Counselor Troi," she said.

"Captain Picard requests your presence in his ready room."

"Tell him I'll be right there," Troi answered.

x x x x

Troi was fairly certain she knew what Picard wanted. She wasn't certain she was prepared for the conversation, any more than she had been prepared to write the report, but she could think of no way to delay the inevitable.

Picard was pacing the central area of his carpeted ready room and Troi sat silently watching, her hands folded in her lap, her mind serene and open to his needs. She was not surprised by the concern she felt emanating from the captain, though a private man, she had long ago realized his deep compassion for his crew, particularly those few he felt close enough to call friend. Over the past few days, since Will's return, she had felt a deepening of his concern whenever the captain interacted with his first officer.

Although cleared by Starfleet Medical, and certified fit for duty, Troi sensed Picard's worry. The Riker that had returned to them was not the same Riker that had left. In many outward ways, he was no different, and new crewmembers warmed quickly to the out-going first officer in a way they never would to their less approachable captain. Riker had easily fallen back into his old patterns of behavior, setting the tone of the command structure of the _Enterprise, _acting at times, as a buffer between lesser officers and their families and the most respected man on board ship. Deftly handling personnel problems, Riker, with his easy affability was the perfect foil for Picard's professional reserve. Within a week of his return, Troi had sensed a feeling of relief emanating from the crew, particularly those who had come to know Riker and his command style before the mission to Corvas Seven.

And yet, an unmistakable tension remained, in the captain, herself, and the others who knew Riker best, Worf, LaForge, Crusher and O'Brien. In some way each had projected emotions similar to what she now felt from Picard. These emotions ranged from a fierce protectiveness in Worf, to medical curiosity in Crusher. O'Brien had been avoided and Troi assumed Riker's avoidance of anything related to the transporter room included its chief operator.

"In your opinion, Counselor, your professional opinion, how is Commander Riker settling into the old routine?"

Troi looked up at Picard as he spoke, shifting mental gears, keying out his emotional responses and concentrating on his question.

"It is obvious that, on the surface, Commander Riker is his usual congenial self.

"On the surface?" Picard asked, stopping suddenly to stand in front of her.

"Yes, sir," Troi answered, shifting her hands in her lap.

She hesitated to say anything further, more interested in Picard's outward observations of the first officer, hoping to confirm her own suspicions, or possibly allay her fears.

"It is the inward part that concerns me, Counselor," Picard said sharply, resuming his pacing. "I need to get your impression of what's going on inside Will Riker's head."

Troi shifted in her seat and took a deep breath. "The crew has reacted positively to his return and that seems to have reassured him somewhat, but..."

Picard rounded on her again as she hesitated.

"But, I detect a great deal of stress in him, Captain."

"Stress, Counselor. In what respect?"

"Several, actually, Captain. It appears to be stressful for him to maintain outward appearances, yet he feels compelled to do precisely that. What was once easy and natural had become a difficult facade. In unguarded moments, I have even detected a deep sense of uncertainty."

"What kind of uncertainty?" Picard had walked around his own desk, and was now seated opposite her, fingering a large dilithium crystal that sat on its top.

"Uncertainty concerning his command ability, Captain. He fears he has lost and will never regain his command edge. He is at war with himself. Part of his psyche needs to have that command edge tested, _yet _part fears he will fail the test. It is not unusual for a person to react this way after a traumatic experience," she added hastily.

"Any person in general?"

Picard's insightful questions left Troi wondering if he was truly asking her opinion or seeking confirmation of his own. She nodded affirmatively.

"But not Will Riker?" Picard concluded.

Troi sighed. "Yes, for him it is unusual"

"And cause for concern?"

"Yes, Captain."

Picking at a small crack on a perfectly manicured fingernail, Troi hesitated again, searching for the proper words. Like the small cracks in Riker's mental state, the slightest pressure the wrong way at the wrong time could—but she banished the thought. She did not want to be the one to damn Will. "It is difficult to know, Captain. The Will Riker who left here six months ago was a very strong personality, independent, intelligent, decisive, and courageous. I don't believe these qualities can be removed from a person's make-up. In this case, I believe they have been muted by his experience, not erased. I firmly believe that, placed in a command situation, Will's very nature, and his years of training will take over, and he'll be fine."

"And yet, you still have doubts and reservations."

Troi realized it was time for her to update Picard on all aspects of the problem. "There is something else I have not reported, Captain, because I was not sure of its significance."

Picard waited silently, his gaze penetrating, and Troi proceeded as calmly and with all the professional detachment she could muster where Will Riker was concerned. "Commander Riker avoided use of the transporter for his return from Starbase 112."

Picard sat up straighter, his face darkening with concern, and a touch of anger, she sensed, because she had not informed him before.

"He chose to return to the _Enterprise _via shuttle instead of the transporter, though it meant delays and a much longer journey. I had hoped this was an isolated incident. There has been little opportunity to test his reaction since we left Starbase 112."

Picard was thoughtful, and Troi sensed he was weighing the ramifications of a first officer who might balk at a critical moment. Something he had never had to do. Riker's abilities and his devotion to duty had always been given constants. Finding even the smallest reason to doubt them was akin, in Picard's mind to doubting the most fundamental laws of physics. "And if Riker is given an assignment, requiring the use of the transporter?" Picard's question was phrased as though he already suspected the answer and did not like it.

Troi took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Commander Riker has a very resilient personality. He would not have survived his ordeal on Corvas Seven if he were anything less. I feel he is experiencing a certain degree of uncertainty, but he will not fail to do his duty when he is called upon to do so."

"That is your professional opinion?" Picard questioned again.

"Yes, sir."

Picard steepled his fingers, staring past them directly into Troi's eyes, as though he were the empath attempting to read her thoughts. "And what of your _personal _opinion?"

Troi was momentarily startled, but knew she trusted Picard's reasons. "I am concerned for him, as are you, Captain. I wish to protect him from further pain, but I cannot. He would not want that. We can not stifle the person we know to be Will Riker, even if, by refusing to do so, he is once again subjected to painful situations. Only by facing his fears will he be whole again."

Picard sat back in his chair, a sense of relief washing out from him. "I was hoping that was what you would say, Counselor. Thank you, for confirming my own instincts."

x x x x


	3. Chapter 3

Back in her office, Troi recalled the personnel report she had been struggling with when Picard summoned her to his office. The report was no easier to write now than it had been earlier. Crew evaluations had always been a joint project, between her _and _Will, andshe found even after all the months of his absence, she hated doing them herself. He needed to re-familiarize himself with many of the crewmembers before he could again assist her, but even then, she would have hesitated to ask for help with this particular evaluation. Resolutely, she began plodding through the report.

"Ro," she commanded the computer, "Laren, Ensign. Assigned to the _Enterprise, _NCC-1701-D. Quarterly evaluation."

X X X

Picard was in his quarters when the _Enterprise _received the subspace signal coded Alpha Zero One, a ship in distress. He arrived on the bridge as the first details were arriving. The _Harmony, _a private passenger carrier with thirty-five crewmembers and 100 passengers had experienced an on-board explosion of undetermined origin andwas currently powerless, adrift, had suffered casualties andinjuries. Among the dead were her captain and bridge crew as well as most of the engineering staff. The _Enterprise _was the closest Federation vessel able to render assistance, andRiker had already set course for accident site. At maximum warp, they would arrive in roughly ten hours.

"Number One," Picard said with his usual calm, "have you alerted the necessary away teams?"

Riker nodded affirmatively. "Yes, sir, medical and engineering sections are on full standby and prepared to render complete support if necessary. Geordi and Doctor Crusher are organizing their departments. We will be able to move in as soon as we arrive."

"Good," Picard watched his first officer closely, trying not to appear as though he were scrutinizing him, but he found himself weighing Riker's words and the minutest details of his facial expression. He could find no hesitation in his first officer. "They have lost their entire command structure, Commander, I think it would appropriate if _you _leadthis rescue mission. Command presence will be essential to bolstering morale." Picard saw the slightest tightening around Riker's eyes, but the reaction vanished almost immediately.

"That was my intention, sir," Riker answered crisply. "I've ordered that the shuttlecraft be fitted as emergency medical transports.

Picard's eyes narrowed. "Shuttlecraft, Number One?"

Picard was bating Riker, and he knew it, and felt the years of old trust dissolve with the words. The first office nodded acknowledgement of the statement, and Picard realized Riker knew exactly what he was hedging at. They had worked together too long for the transparency of the ruse to be misinterpreted by the younger ma Riker was obviously not going to hold the fact against him.

"Yes, Captain," Riker continued briskly. "Initial reports indicate extensive damage. Ionization in the passenger liner's atmosphere due to contamination from the crippled engines, or physical debris, may prevent accurate internal readings by sensor, making safe use of the transporter impossible. I want shuttles ready as a standby measure." Riker stared back at the captain.

An observer, unfamiliar with Will Riker, would have read his demeanor as one of calm efficiency. Picard read a forced blandness. He knew damn well Riker's decision was a logical course of action and he could not bring himself to directly order his first officer into a transporter. Riker would undoubtedly go. That was not the point. For the briefest second, Picard glanced over Riker's shoulder to where Counselor Troi stood near the turbolift. She had entered the bridge in midst of their conversation. Her eyes widened slightly in alarm, then as quickly her face assumed its outward calm. Picard remembered her theory that Riker was looking for a way to test his; command edge. Perhaps this was that test.

"Very well, Number One," Picard said, nodding to his first officer, and assuming his place at command central. The captain watched as Riker strode purposefully toward the turbolift. It was not until the doors swished closed behind him that Troi cast a worried glance at her captain.

X X X

Riker leaned against the wall of the turbolift feeling the gentle vibration of its motion through his broad shoulders. He forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth, his fingers massaging the tense knot at his temples. His jaw ached. He realized, with some embarrassment, he had been grinding his teeth. _Well_, he thought, reasoning away the tension, _even before_—he paused in mid-thought. He had developed the tendency to divide his life into before and after—before Corvas Seven and after Corvas Seven. He corrected his thinking . Any officer, faced with the same situation involving a damaged vessel in unknown condition, carrying wounded civilians, had cause for concern, particularly if it was necessary to send away teams into a potentially hazardous situation. He was not being overly cautious. No one would fault him for considering the safety of his away teams. That concern was part of the edge that kept a good officer on his toes.

He had told himself the same thing countless times—since Corvas Seven—and still it did nothing to quell the frightened twisting deep down in his guts. And _not _for the first time since Corvas Seven, he had doubts.

X X X

Ten hours later, Riker leaned over Data's shoulder studying the sensor readouts from the long _range _scans of the _Harmony. _The condition of the injured vessel was more unstable than they had originally feared. Her propulsion system was severely damaged and an ominous build-up of energy in the warp drive presaged greater instability. Her field generators were fluctuating and could collapse at any moment, annihilating what was left of the crippled ship.

"Minimum life support, patches of failed gravity, uninhabitable sections due to hull breach, radiation pulses from the engine and nearby solar activity are preventing more specific analysis. Data intoned a nightmarish litany of disaster. "We have been unable to establish any clear picture of the interior of the vessel, Commander. There is some indication of a concentration life forms in the amidships and aft sections. Schematics of the vessel show those areas to be a cargo bay and a large social arena."

"Ballroom," Riker muttered. He could feel the tension building along the back of his neck. He was going to have one hell of a headache when this was all over provided any of them returned in large enough pieces to have headaches. Riker stood and straightened his uniform before turning to face Jean-Luc Picard. "Captain," Riker stated bluntly, "I believe our greatest chance of successfully rescuing the passengers on board the Harmony would lie in using the shuttles to transport emergency personnel. With luck, Geordi and his team will be able to stabilize the engine core and reduce ionic interference sufficiently to allow effective use of the transporters. In the meantime we can begin to evacuate as many of the injured as possible via shuttlecraft."

Picard nodded gravely. "I agree, Number One."

Riker sensed no challenge in Picard's statement. It truly was the only way to proceed.

"Mister Data, estimated time of arrival at the _Harmony_?"

"We will be within shuttle range in ten point oh four minutes, Captain."

"Very well." Picard rose briskly from his command chair to stand beside Riker. "Proceed, Number One,"

Riker paused a moment to signal the away teams to proceed to the shuttle bays, before he and Data left the bridge.

X X X

The _Harmony's _shuttle bay doors closed around the craft bearing Riker, Crusher, LaForge and the initial away teams. They had feared the doors might be inoperable due to lack of power or structural damage. There had been no way to know until they arrived at the _Harmony. _Fortunately, though sluggish, the giant doors were intact and functional. Four of the _Enterprise's _shuttles nestled into a hold inside the bay. As the rescue teams poured from the shuttles, Riker quickly directed one team to ready the _Harmony's _own life pods to carry as many of the survivors to safety as possible. It appeared all of the escape pods in the aft section were undamaged.

Riker moved decisively towards the hatch leading to the interior of the damaged vessel. Data had already scanned the area beyond the hatch. "Toxic fumes and heavy debris are present, but life support and gravitational fields are both functional in this section. There appears to be a group of survivors immediately ahead approximately thirty meters down this passageway."

"All right," Riker said, "Geordi and Data, take your team to the engineering room, and see if you can buy us some time. Doctor Selar, your team is to attempt to reach the survivors we thought were trapped in the aft section. Doctor Crusher, and I with her team will handle any ones found in the amidships area."

Riker glanced silently at Data. As away team members adjusted breathing masks, the android placed both hands on the edges of the shuttle bay interior door. Slowly, he forced the jammed doors apart. Acrid yellow smoke billowed out of the opening. The corridor beyond the door looked like a recreation of Dante's hell. Twisted metal beams and tangled wire clogged the gas-filled corridor.

"She looks like she's been hit by a neutrino blast," Geordi muttered.

Riker agreed. The damage was so extensive it was difficult to believe some foul play was not involved.

The rescue teams moved into the shattered corridor, ducking under and crawling over the tortured metal remains. He had seen warships survive devastating battles with less damage, and wondered that anyone had survived at all. They approached an intersection and Selar's group split off in one direction while Geordi and Data went the other. Riker glanced at Crusher, then forged ahead into the darkened tunnel that was all that remained of the ship's main passage. They moved in silence, the only sound was the breathing of the away team members and the scrape of metal being pushed aside. Then they heard the first stifled crying of a child. Riker wanted to quicken his pace, and stepped forward, only to find he was floating. He grabbed for support, but his hand slid along the bulkhead, failing to slow his upward progress. He gasped as his right hand grazed a torn air filtration grid. The sharp metal sliced through the flesh of his palm, and he cursed silently before falling with jarring force to the deck. Geordi must have repaired the gravity core for the area.

"Are you all right, Will?" Crusher was beside him, her hands on his arm. He could hear the hum of her medical tricorder, the light from its illuminated grid bathing her face in an eerie glow.

"I'm fine, Doctor," Riker said. "Just cut my hand on that grid." He angled his beam upward to where the grate dangled precariously. "Did anyone else get hurt?" There was murmur of negatives from behind him.

"You appear to be the only one who decided to play Peter Pan," Crusher joked, trying to break the nerve shattering tension.

"Great," Riker answered back. "Okay, Tinkerbelle," he said, "Let's get moving before—" With a dying sputter the lights in the corridor failed, plunging them into darkness. "—before anything else breaks," Riker finished with an exasperated sigh. Torches flicked on, cutting the blackness.

Within minutes they had pushed through what was left of the ship's ballroom. If the corridor had resembled one of the levels of Dante's inferno, then this was truly its deepest core. The atmosphere was choked with the cloying odor of packed bodies, blood and sweat and death. It had been thirty-six hours since the first distress call had been detected, it looked as though the assembled beings had clung to life and hope for thirty-six years. The away team moved quickly and efficiently around him. There were wounded to be attended to and Crusher and her team were already working on their patients when a tattered figure approached Riker.

The man, in what was left of his ship's official uniform stood before Riker, composing himself before he spoke. He swayed slightly and Riker would have made him sit, had there been anywhere to be seated. The grim determination in the man's eyes told Riker he would be all right standing.

"Brooker.," the man said hoarsely. "Eonas Brooker." His coppery skin and almond eyes spoke of his Myraian heritage, even through the grime and exhaustion. "I can't tell you how glad—" Brooker was cut off by a stifled scream from behind them. Brooker's gaze shot over Riker's shoulder and Riker spun to see Crusher look up from her patient, her eyes silently reassuring Brooker with a glance.

"Compound fracture of the femur, but she'll be okay. We also have four shuttles ready to transport wounded and have manned as many of _Harmony's _life pods as were salvageable. I want you to help me move the unwounded to the shuttle area. Can you do that?"

Brooker nodded, new strength infusing his exhausted body.

Riker saw his eyes drift again to where his wife lay. "She's in the best hands," Riker added sympathetically. He wondered how he would have reacted in Brooker's place. A year ago he was pretty sure of his reaction. _Since Corvas Seven_—he cancelled the thought with a viscous mental stab. There was work to be done.

He saw Brooker moving cautiously through the crowded room, singling out individuals who staggered to their feet and stumbled in Riker's direction. As the ragged group assembled, Riker heard the unmistakable whine of a transporter, and looked up to see a figure materializing in the midst of the ballroom. The figure fluctuated, then strengthened and finally solidified.

"Ensign Ro," Riker said sharply.

"Commander," Ro answered the hard edge of defiance in her voice. "There was a dramatic drop in the ionization levels in this section of the vessel, and we decided to attempt a transporter drop.

"We?" Riker questioned.

"O'Brien and myself. I thought it would be expeditious to move the wounded by transporter."

Riker was about to reprimand Ro for taking too much into her own hands when the ship shuddered.

"LaForge to Riker," Geordi's voice was a barely audible whisper amidst the crackle of local communicator interference.

"Yes," Riker snapped.

"I was able to contain some of the ionization. We may be able to attempt transport now."

"Ensign Ro is one step ahead of you," Riker said more sharply than he intended.

"Well, Commander," Geordi continued, "this baby isn't going to hold together much longer. I really don't know what has kept her from self-destructing, but I suggest we get out of here as soon as possible."

"You're recommendation has been duly noted, Mister LaForge. If you've done all you can do where you are at, get your team to the shuttle bay and assist with the transfer of passengers to the _Enterprise." _Riker turned to Crusher. "If you would prefer to beam your more critically wounded directly to Sickbay, Doctor, it appears you now have that option." Riker pressed his own throbbing palm against his thigh. Crusher moved to relocate the most critically injured and within seconds the first group of wounded, Brooker's wife among them, glimmered out of sight. Riker would have sent the officer with them, but he seemed determined to escort his charges to the shuttle bay.

Ro was busy moving the uninjured into the corridor, and Riker bit back the thought he had begun to form. Her impetuous head-strong attitude had been a source of friction between her and the rest of the crew, himself included. She pushed every one around her as though taunting them with her individuality, until even the most patient pushed back. For reasons known only to him, Picard was not afraid to acknowledge her potential, despite her rocky service record. Riker just wondered if he would live long enough to share Picard's outlook.

The ship shuddered a second time. Riker was startled by the change in the transporters hum. The beam seemed to scream in tune with the vessel's death throes, and as he watched the shadowy figures trapped in the half-real existence of the transporter effect, faded, solidified, then faded again.

Riker's emotions surged and subsided in rhythm with the hapless transportees, his heart a throbbing ache in his chest as though a hand was squeezing the life from him. Memories of fear and pain caused a knotted lump in his throat and he pressed his injured hand into a fist, his fingers digging into the raw wound, hoping the real pain would mask the memory. He seemed suspended in a miasma of paralyzing flashback, then the transporter resumed its quiet thrum, and Riker looked quickly about him. No one seemed to have noticed his lapse, which had, in fact lasted only a few seconds. A few seconds that seemed years to a man whose confidence had been riddled with self-doubt.

Riker shook his head, tapped his communicator and commanded crisply, "Riker to _Enterprise. _Patch me through to O'Brien,"

"Yes, sir." O'Brien's voice was garbled and faded.

"Did you succeed in that last transport?"

"Yes, sir. Signals fluctuated for a moment, but no one was lost or injured."

"That was the last group to transport from this location. Have Doctor Selar's patients been evacuated?"

"Yes, sir, but I doubt I'll be able to transport everyone left on board. Pattern integrity is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain."

"We are moving all uninjured passengers to the shuttle bay. Maintain a lock on my communicator and that of Ensign Ro, just in case."

"Aye, sir."

Stepping into the corridor, Riker joined the end of the line of straggling civilians. They moved in shuffling silence, too stunned by past events to talk. He could barely see Ro's dark hair at the beginning of the line, leading the way through the tortured metal corridor. Riker quickly contacted both Geordi and Doctor Selar. They confirmed their groups had reached the relative safety of the shuttle bay and were boarding the waiting vessels.

"I wouldn't give this ship much more than ten or fifteen more minutes," had been Geordi's last warning. "She's held together by spit and bailing wire now."

Threading their way through the debris seemed to take an eternity as Riker mentally, counted the seconds. Another shuddering vibration quaked through the vessel as the last of Riker's party straggled into the bay area. He wished he could breathe a sigh of relief, but they were far from safe. His communicator beeped.

"Riker here."

"Commander," Even Worf's bass rumble was muted by the static invading the communications systems. "Are all persons accounted for in the shuttle bay?"

"All that we know of are accounted for." Riker had a bad feeling he knew what Worf was about to report.

"We are picking up faint life signs. We had thought it might be a ghost of one of the signals from a person accounted for by you, but the signal has remained stationery."

"Damn," Riker muttered under his breath. "Location, Mister Worf," he demanded.

"Approximately 150 meters forward of your present location along the port hull."

Brooker had been standing close enough to Riker to overhear Worf s words. "There is an observation lounge in that area. We thought the hull had ruptured, but I had no way of knowing for certain."

"I'll check it out, Mister Worf." He broke communications then quickly located Geordi.

"Well wait for you, Commander."

"No. You'll get these people out of here. Leave one of the small escape pods behind. I'll use it."

Riker moved quickly toward the bay entrance and into the corridor, stopping only when he heard the scrape of metal on metal behind him. He turned, and was not surprised. "Ensign Ro, you are to remain with the evacuees. I will handle this."

"They have enough pilots and regulations state that where ever possible, hazardous missions should be handled by pairs of crew members."

"Since when do you go by the book, Ensign?"

"Since it drastically increases our chances of survival." Under other circumstances, Riker would have called Ro on the carpet for her actions, but right now, they did not have the time. He told himself he would indulge in that pleasure at his leisure, provided they got out of their present circumstances intact. He turned and forged ahead, at several points forced to crawl through the rubble that clogged the port passageway. The soft bleep of his tricorder the only indication life other that themselves existed on board.

"Commander Riker." Worf's voice intruded again on his concentration. "Sensor readings indicate a dangerous build-up of energy near the engine's core. Engineering estimates five minutes to critical."

"Understood." Riker's answer was sharper than he intended.

"O'Brien."

"Yes, sir."

"Can you get a fix on us?"

"Barely, sir, but for now, I can beam you out."

"Not yet. We've almost reached the source of the signal."

"Sir," Ro said, breaking her silence for the first time since entering the corridor with him. "This way, I think we've found..." The ensign's voice was muffled as she ducked to crawl through a tangle of wiring.

Riker also bent and worked his way through the passage she had made, emerging to see the ensign silhouetted against the observation port. Light from the system's suns cast an eerie glow within the darkened lounge, and at first Riker did not see what Ro had found. Then he heard a muffled cry. On the deck where Ro was kneeling lay a silent figure. Riker knelt, placing two fingers on the woman's throat. He knew by the feel of her icy flesh there would be no pulse. Gently, respectfully, he rolled the woman over.

She was stiff, rigor mortis having set in hours before, a jagged metal shard protruding from her neck. She must have died in the initial explosion. With her dying breath she had tried to shield the infant in her arms, and miraculously, had succeeded.

Riker, with Ro's help, pried the woman's arms from around the child and Riker lifted the cold and soggy bundle. The baby cried weakly, but kicked against its coverings. Riker peeled away the blanket it was swaddled in, a blanket soaked with its mother's blood, and the tiny eyes caught the subdued light and glinted in the darkness. "I can't believe you made it through all this," Riker murmured as an ominous rumble built in the belly of the wounded ship.

"O'Brien," Riker commanded. "Three to beam up. Get us out of here NOW."

The command came as easily as breathing. Riker did not have time to think about fear or indecision. And only for the barest fraction of a second he told himself, he had reason to fear transport, before the familiar tingle of molecular dissimilation enveloped him. The tiny body in his arms wiggled against his chest, and he hoped to hell O'Brien had not lost his touch with a transporter.

Within seconds, Riker realized O'Brien did indeed still have the right touch. He materialized on his knees in the main transporter room, Ro beside him. He stood, carefully unflexing his clenched fist, aware of the blood dripping from his own palm. He was tired, dirty, and his hand hurt like hell. He was also euphoric. Looking around the transporter room, he realized Troi was present, the smile on her face confirming his own elation. He was all right. Everything was going to be all right. He had survived Corvas Seven, and had not lost a thing. Grinning at Troi, he stepped down from the transporter platform, gently handing his damp charge to the medical technician standing ready

"You'd better report to Sickbay yourself, Will," Troi commented, nodding toward his hand.

X X X

As Ro watched, Riker stepped off the transporter platform, laughing, and not for the first time Ro noted the effect of his laughter and his smile. Riker had the uncanny ability to place those around him at ease, without loosing their respect for his rank. She had seen the change in him, like a light being switched on. A tangible tension drained away and he was again a man in charge of himself. One did not need to be an empath to sense the change that had occurred in the past few moments. But it was obvious a particular empath had noted the transformation. It was evident in the warmth of her smile, and the look meant only for him. Ro would never understand that kind of loyalty, or that kind of love. Within minutes the transporter room emptied.

She felt the thrum of the engines going to warp as a gentle vibration through the deck plates, and still she stood unmoving. "Ensign?

The inquiry slowly sifted to her conscious level. Ro _realized she _had never stepped down from the transporter platform, and did so, swiftly, and with some embarrassment at her lapse.

X X X

Hours later, the jubilant party in Ten Forward had dwindled to a few crew members conversing in soft tones, lazily consuming the last of their drinks and food. They were a company of friends who had weathered danger, explored the unknown, held the universe in their hands. Drawn close by shared experience, they were complete again, as they had not been for months.

The guest of honor stifled a yawn, his long legs stretched before him, his voice a mellow timber long absent from their conversations. "So we're on for tomorrow, 1700, my quarters," he asked again.

"We've kept the poker chips warm, Commander," LaForge answered, grinning. "And we've been working on Data's bluff.

"Data's bluff?" Riker asked. "Isn't that something like a cold day in hell—damn near impossible?"

"If one utilizes the literal definition of hell as a place of extreme heat, then a cold day in hell would be considered impossibility, Commander," the all-too-literal android commented.

"Precisely," Riker added somberly, then laughed. It felt so damned good just to laugh. He had finally come home.

The party in Ten Forward had been impromptu and about two weeks overdue. It started as a casual gathering of friends who had wanted to welcome him back, but had been unsure of how they would be received but after his return from the _Harmony _there had been no doubt the time was right. The small group had quickly become a crowd, as word of mouth spread word of the celebration, and off duty personnel and their families swelled the ranks of those in attendance until the lounge seemed on the verge of bursting.

Riker found the crowd overwhelming and humbling. Their eagerness to talk with him, to shake his hand, reinforced the realization that this was where he truly belonged. He had been missed. His return was welcome. Corvas Seven was quickly fading to the dull and damning memory it should be. He glanced at the people seated with him, his closest friends, then he noted a figure standing in the shadows near the door.

"If you will excuse me," he said to his companions as he rose to his feet, approaching the dark-haired woman near the door. "Ensign," Riker said, "won't you join us?"

'I did not come here to join you, Commander," Ro said firmly.

"As you wish." They stood silently for a moment, then Riker continued . "If you won't join us, would you at least accept my apology?"

Ro's head tilted quizzically. "Apology, sir?"

"Yes," Riker nodded. "When I first came back on board, you were the only one who was there to greet me. You wished to speak to me and I was impossibly rude. For that I apologize."

"For not accepting my apology?" Ro asked. "You apologize for that?"

Riker nodded.

"Fine, Commander. I did not wish to disturb you." Ro turned on her heel and left as abruptly as she had entered.

"She is a difficult person to understand," Troi said softly behind him. "I've had trouble evaluating her."

"Ensign Ro certainly requires a different scale," Riker agreed. He turned back to his table to find the remaining members of their party on their feet and exchanging good nights. "Party seems to be over," Riker said.

"Yes." Troi slipped her hand into his . "Walk with you?"

"I'd like that," Riker said, "but I have one stop to make before I retire. Provided Doctor Crusher has no objection."

"The baby?"

Riker nodded. "I feel I should check on her."

"They've located an aunt on Rigel Four and maternal grandparents on Sadr Alpha. We have arranged to meet them at Starbase 12 to pick up the infant. She will be placed with foster parents on board as soon as Doctor Crusher is sure she has suffered no injury. I don't think the doctor would object if you peeked in on her."

Together, they left Ten Forward in the direction of Sickbay.

X X X

TBC – stick with me folks, the story doesn't end here.


	4. Chapter 4

William Riker strode down the corridor of the _Enterprise _with the casual grace that was his trademark. It had been three weeks since the rescue of the crew and passengers of the _Harmony. _Mapping of the Beta Genah sector had been preformed with characteristic _Enterprise _efficiency. The past weeks had passed so smoothly and Riker had settled into the routine so easily that he found he was becoming bored, if anyone could be bored flying aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise, _and that thought brought him up short. He remembered a moment of quiet despair when he would have given his soul for just this kind of boredom. Nothing like a nightmare or two to keep a first officer firmly grounded in reality, he thought as he approached the turbolift.

The lift doors opened with a quiet swish and Riker entered, nodding to the two young women who already were inside. Still lost in thought, Riker gave the command for the bridge, and was somewhat startled to hear muffled laughter behind him. Turning slowly, he tried to affect his most serious first officer look. "Ensign," he said sternly, "you're giggling."

The dark-haired girl flushed, drew herself to attention, and nodded. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. No offense intended."

"Is it a private joke, or one that can be shared?" he asked smiling. The girl blushed an even deeper shade of red and Riker found himself recalling an incident early in his career aboard the _Enterprise _when Captain Picard had warned him of the devastating effect his smile had on certain female members of the crew. He made use of that effect on more than one occasion. The young girl seemed to read his thoughts and glanced quickly to the floor.

"It was nothing, sir, really." She seemed to gain courage from the vision of her own booted feet, and she rushed on. "It's just that I was assigned to the _Enterprise _while you were—not onboard. I had never seen you till now, and I'd heard—rumors," she finished weakly.

_Someday, _Riker thought, _I'm going to find out what member of rumor control starts these things behind my back. _"Well," he said, "Ifit's any consolation, Ensign, some of those stories have been around longer than I have."

With those words the turbolift stopped at Deck Four and, as the doors opened, the two young ensigns scurried from the lift, almost careening into Troi.

"In a hurry, Troi said, glancing over her shoulder. "Will, what did you say to cause such embarrassment?"

Riker shrugged and feigned innocence. "I don't think what I _said_ was the problem."

"Oh," said Troi knowingly, "rumor control _again. _

"Does everybody know about these rumors, except me?" Riker asked in exasperation.

Troi raised her eyebrows, as once again the lift doors interrupted any response she might have made, leaving Riker no more in the know that he had been before.

"Deanna," he said pleadingly to her back. Riker followed Troi down the curved ramp to the command center of the bridge. As he did, Data rose from the Captain's seat.

"Commander Riker," Data said, "the captain wished to see you in his ready room as soon as you reported to the bridge."

8 8 8

"Come," Picard called at the sound of his door chime. Looking up, he quickly cancelled the holographic representation hovering over the surface of his desk, not, he noted, before his first officer had recognized the configuration of planets he had been studying. Riker stood stiffly at attention, uncharacteristic, and, Picard had thought, a reaction he had overcome.

"Please be seated, Number One," Picard said casually, indicating the seat before his desk. Riker swung easily into the seat, but Picard sensed his apprehension.

"Corvas Seven?" Riker asked flatly.

Picard nodded.

"I thought that particular incident had been declared closed?" Riker asked.

_Too defensively, _Picard thought. "The incident was considered closed," Picard answered, "but the world and its problems still exist."

"Data informed me you wanted to see me," Riker said, switching subjects.

"Yes, Number One," Picard began. "I have recently received a classified communiqué from Starfleet headquarters. There has been an incident within the Romulan Empire which our informants in their underground found essential to bring to our attention, even though it meant breaking their customary silence. An incident which may threaten the delicate balance of that underground."

"Yes, sir." Riker waited for Picard to continue.

"Will, I have read your report and the reports of Starfleet Medical concerning your last assignment on Corvas Seven. I understand how you feel, why your experience there has been difficult to deal with on a number of levels. I do not wish to resurrect demons you might have had difficulty putting to rest, but I must ask you to help as much as possible. You are the only person currently available who can provide information essential to our purpose."

"And that purpose is?" Riker's voice was quiet, and he sat totally still—an eerie expectation or premonition in his rigid posture.

"The incident I mentioned involves a person sympathetic to both the Federation and those factions of Romulan society who would like to make peace with the Federation. This person has been captured, and our sources inform us he is being held in the same facility on Corvas Seven in which you were incarcerated. Picard saw the subtle shift in Riker's body, a reaction so imperceptible only someone who had worked with and known the younger man for many years would have seen

"What do you need to know?"

"Contacts. Who we can trust. You escaped or were helped to escape, and we need to know by whom and why."

"Who will be going in?" Riker's tone implied he already knew the answer. Picard's hesitation confirmed the suspicion. Then I'm going with you," Riker said softly.

"I was not asking for volunteers."

"But you need this one. I can't name names because I don't know them."

"You could describe your contacts. Recreate them for me on the holodeck."

"No. I doubt they would be the same. I got the distinct impression they knew who they were looking for. Besides, you wouldn't get in or out alive without my help."

"A broad assumption." Picard felt piqued by his first officer's implication.

"A fact, Captain. The one thing I learned for certain while I was being held was this—they were delighted to have me, but the person they really wanted was you. I lived. I sometimes think I was allowed to live, perhaps even to escape, because they were fishing for a bigger catch.

"This isn't a suspicion you voiced in any of your reports."

"Because it's just a hunch, Captain. I have no proof of anything. Maybe I was held for... for so long, because they were hoping to use me as bait. But an 'incident' as you put it, that requires our return to Corvas Seven, that requires you beam to the surface, is just the sort of thing that makes the suspicion seem more than just fantasy. We were lured to Corvas by an elaborate ruse, and that ruse is becoming a trap." Riker had leaned forward in his chair, his face an intense mask.

"Precisely why I cannot ask you to participate in this mission, Number One. You've been placed in danger once, and I don't feel you should be subjected to..."

"Precisely why I must accompany any mission to Corvas."

Riker's words were a bitter lash, directed, Picard thought, not at his captain, but at what he still perceived as his own weakness. "To prove what, Will?"

Riker was silent. "I would like Ensign Ro to accompany us on this mission."

"To prove what, Will?" Picard asked again, his voice soft, concerned, that of a friend, not a commanding officer.

Riker's breath hissed between clenched teeth. "Perhaps to prove what you've maintained all along, Captain. That she has the potential to be a truly fine officer, given the right circumstances.

Picard did not answer. He was well aware of Ro's role in their last disastrous assignment to Corvas. He did not blame Riker if he felt animosity towards the Bajoran ensign, would not blame him if he place full responsibility for his capture squarely on the young officer's shoulders, but he could not condone assigning any officer simply to satisfy another's desire for "paybacks."

"I cannot order you to participate in this mission, Number One." Picard watched intently as a look of resignation passed briefly over his officer's face.

"I'm volunteering," Riker said evenly, and as he did some of the tension drained from his rigid posture. "I cannot order Ensign Ro to participate under the circumstances either."

"I recommend she be given the opportunity to volunteer. Her knowledge of Corvas, its culture, and the situation on that planet is second only to my own. She would be a valuable addition to the away team, and her presence may greatly increase our chances of returning alive and intact."

"A laudable recommendation, Commander."

"An accurate assessment of her ability, Captain."

Picard nodded his dismissal, and Riker rose and left. Picard leaned back in his chair. He had gotten precisely the reaction he had hoped he would get from his first officer, yet he felt a gnawing sense of guilt. Starfleet had ordered Riker's participation in this away mission. Picard had objected, but was overruled. Evidently someone at headquarters had anticipated Riker's response as well as he had.

8 8 8

Troi leaned against the cold metal framework of the outer hatchway to his quarters. It had been so easy to fall into the old patterns, to once again be aware of his presence filling a void in the emotional backwash of the great starship with a solidity and assurance only he could provide the bedrock to which her emotions could be secured. Although Picard's cool steadiness was a stabilizing factor in the often tumultuous emotional network of the _Enterprise, _it lacked the fire, the passion, of Riker's aura. Picard's aloofness pressed crew members away, isolating the captain in his own cocoon of command, where Riker's openness encouraged the confidence, and communication that bound the crew to its first officer and, in conjunction, its captain.

It was that openness that was suddenly gone again. Troi could sense in Riker an undercurrent of turmoil. The inviting laughter, the warm humor, had vanished. She wondered what had transpired behind the locked doors of Picard's ready room to cause such a backslide of emotion. The brooding darkness she had felt emanating from Riker after his conference with Picard, while not the same lack of confidence she had first sensed when he had returned to duty, was still tinged with the same fear—fear of what had happened to him on Corvas Seven? What had been said to rekindle that trauma?

Riker had left the bridge shortly after emerging from Picard's ready room. She had wanted to follow, but duty and decorum stopped her. Unable to speak with him during the duty shift, she had heard he was in Ten-Forward, alone. But he had left by the time she arrived. So she now stood outside his quarters, her mind tightly closed to everything and everyone around her. Tentatively, she reached for the one mind she knew best besides her own, hoping to find him receptive. Imzadi' she thought, probing inward, projecting her love and concern toward his mind, only to be slammed back like a cold wind snuffing a candle flame. She drew in a startled breath, shocked by the vehemence of his rebutted. Placing her slender palm against the door chime, she held it as she slowly counted to ten, and then she said aloud, "Will?"

Silence.

"Will," she repeated, "I need to talk to you."

There was a prolonged, unresponsive moment, and then the door slid open. Troi stepped inside. The room was dark; the overhead observation ports wide open. Troi walked to the darkened silhouette reclined in an easy chair. Light from a thousand stars passed in dancing contrails in the warp driven night, casting a soft, silvered halo on his taut features. In his hand, she could see a bottle, could smell the alcoholic pungency it exuded. Stepping to his side, she dropped to her knees beside the chair, touching his arm lightly, dismayed to feel him flinch at the contact. She did not need to be an empath to feel his turmoil.

"Bourbon," he said quietly. "The real thing." Only the slightest slur told her how much he had already consumed. He was not the type to drink alone, nor to imbibe 'the real thing' and she found it distressing.

"Will."

"It's amazing what Guinan can come up with if you ask politely." He had not taken his eyes from the starry field overhead.

"Why?" Troi asked.

"Is that a professional 'why?'" Counselor?"

"No. A friend's why."

"I'm not sure I can tell you, then. Classified you know."

"All right, it's a professional why."

Riker turned to her at last. Even the alcohol failed to blur the haunted shadow in his eyes. She felt again the fear she had sensed before, so unlike him, yet so real. "Let's just say, I've volunteered for a return mission to hell.

"Corvas Seven?"

Riker sighed and leaned back in his chair once again, intent on the stars overhead. "Why does everyone mutter those two words with the same expression of awe? Or am I misreading it? Maybe it isn't awe. Maybe you're all just afraid I'll break down if I hear them one more time."

Troi waited.

"Well, I won't break. If that were the case, I would have snapped months ago."

"Will," Troi persisted, "what happened on Corvas Seven?"

"You mean you haven't read 'the reports'. Everyone else has. Everyone that tiptoes around the subject like it was an unstable warp core."

_"You _haven't told me." Troi reached out and gently took him by the chin, turning his face toward her. "As Counselor Troi?"

"No, as your friend, your _Imzadi, _Will. What happened? Talk to me."

The hardness of his expression and the wall of his emotion melted under her steady, but gentle scrutiny

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Riker wrapped the last of the intricate lacings around his calf and tied the leather neatly on the outside of his leg. Dark brown trousers of heavy, felted wool, tucked into the tops of suede boots, and a cream linen shirt were the simple style of a Corvan male. Later, he would add the heavy cloak which would provide much needed warmth as well as concealment for the weapons natives of Corvas were assumed to carry. But for now, the cloak was spread across the bunk.

Picard studied his first officer, pondering the transformation from Starfleet's finest to an itinerant merchant. The costume suited the tall figure lending an aura of mystery to the dark haired younger man. "You'd have made a good pirate, Number One," Picard said casually. "The guise of a rogue suits you."

Picard had been mentally reviewing the situation in the Corvan system; a mish-mash mixture of races from across the galaxy. Loosely governed by the rulers of the small city states dotting its surface, Corvas had never managed to provide a unified front to its neighbors in space. Long aware of the Federation and of her allies and enemies, Corvas had, through the machinations of her various leaders, managed to maintain a neutrality of sorts, catering to neither Federation, nor Klingon, nor Romulan, nor any of the other dominant and territorial species of the galaxy. Corvas had opened relationships with several antagonistic galactic factions and, in going so, created a cautiously neutral ground where these groups could mingle.

As a result, trade on Corvas had flourished, but so had its seedy underside, for while they took no sides in galactic political affairs, they also devised no measures to police those who used their ports and cities. Illegitimate activities of every variety blossomed under their non-regulation policies. It was the one place outside of the neutral zone Romulans could operate without overt restriction. Although, technically, in Federation space, Corvas lay within range of the neutral zone and cloaked Romulan vessels were routinely ignored by planetary officials. Trade with the Romulans had proved lucrative for several large merchant houses on Corvas, some of whom had chosen to deal in more than material goods, adding information, political prisoners and occasional slaves, to their inventories. Although the Federation did not maintain an official embassy on Corvas Seven, a liaison officer from the ambassadorial staff had been assigned to provide a contact for Federation trading interests, and , covertly, to provide intelligence on Romulan activity in the sector. Neither the Corvan officials, nor the Federation, wished to risk war over the Romulan presence, and while the Corvans steadfastly denied any involvement in trade with the Empire, the liaison had worked tirelessly to monitor their transactions until, just over a year ago, the liaison had disappeared.

As the closest Federation vessel in the quadrant, the _Enterprise _had been assigned to investigate. Picard had attempted to negotiate information from the official Corvan system, while Riker and his away team consisting of Ro and DeVin'Kor undertook a surface, undercover mission to locate the Federation official. Then, in an apparent judgment call that went wrong, Ensign Ro inadvertently crossed the line of Corvan good taste, insulting a high ranking member of a local merchant house, landing her and the away team in jail. Unfortunately, the jailer was a Romulan sympathizer who recognized a good bargaining chip when he saw one, and in the back and forth negotiations that followed, Ro and DeVin'Kor were eventually returned to the _Enterprise. _Riker, however, had vanished, and no amount of cajolery, or bribery, could gain the slightest bit of information concerning his whereabouts. A veiled implication that Picard could personally arrange his release was received and considered out of the question by the Federation negotiator.

Four months after his abduction, Riker had re-appeared, having escaped, or been released, traveled through the Corvan underground, and later to a Federation vessel docked at Corvas. He appeared unharmed, but routine physical exams showed traces of injuries so deftly healed they were almost undetectable.

The psychological scars were much more evident. Picard had almost despaired of having his first officer back when, fate returned Riker to the _Enterprise. _It was with great trepidation Picard accepted this second mission to Corvas, and requested Riker accompany him.

Riker picked up the cloak from the bed, twirled it over his shoulders with a flourish and nodded silently to Picard, breaking the captain's train of thought. Riker's outward appearance was calm and confident, but Picard sensed the tenseness in his first officer's silence. The normally outgoing young man had spoken little in the past hour, his jaw a tightly clenched angle, barely hidden by his dark beard.

"There's no need to concern yourself about my fitness for this assignment, Captain," Riker assured him as though reading his mind, "I have been cleared for all duty by several branches of Starfleet Medical." There was a wry grimness in Riker's voice that Picard found difficult to interpret. He himself was concerned about the possible ramifications of their returned presence on the surface of Corvas, and he did not have as much to risk as his first officer.

A slight noise in the corner of their room caused both men to turn. Ensign Ro had emerged from her sleeping quarters, a defiant tilt to her sharp chin. She glared, challenging both of them to criticize her choice of costume. She had donned the garb of a Bajoran national, no need to hide her heritage on this catch-all planet. The cut of her clothing was well suited to a Bajoran freedom fighter, trousers and shirt of golden brown, fitted to allow unrestricted movement, a splash of defiant red in the outer garment she had tossed over one shoulder. She carried a phaser type weapon holstered to her side, making no attempt to conceal her armament; her intricate, silver earring flashing against her dark hair and the scarlet lining of her hooded cloak. She waited, but neither Human reprimanded her. Picard silently nodded his approval. "Shall we be on our way," he suggested softly. On this mission, they were comrades in arms, each dependent on the other, and though he was still their commander, for the sake of concealment, they must act as equals.

8 8 8

It was little different from a hundred other taverns on a hundred other backwater worlds. Tucked into the string of equally squalid and poorly kept buildings along a twisted narrow road, it was almost trite in its attempt to be nondescript. The smoky outer room filled with crude furniture and poor lighting intended more to conceal the faces of its visitors than to light the interior, all melded into a scene only notable for its attempts at obscurity. A successful attempt, Picard thought. He had not seen this side of Corvas and decided he had missed nothing.

Riker moved easily through the tightly spaced tables to an empty booth near the rear of the room. He paused briefly at the bar, leaned close to the bartender and spoke in a voice too soft for Picard to understand what was said. But the look on the man's face was unmistakable—startled recognition, followed by fear. The bartender looked over his shoulder as though expecting a hand to clasp him firmly and lead him away, and then he regained his composure as Riker moved to the back of the room. Picard followed him, and Ro was close behind, having drawn her hood over her face to conceal it.

Sitting at the table he had selected, Riker leaned casually back in his seat. Picard followed his first officer's lead, sitting opposite Riker, amused by how easily Riker slipped into the persona he had adopted on his first mission to Corvas. Within seconds, the bartender had brought them drinks, tall, chunky glasses of a foaming brew. The man bowed obsequiously, tipping his head in a nervous manner towards Riker, while eyeing Picard and Ro with distrust, before slipping away. Picard noted that Riker never took his eyes off the man.

"Enjoy the piatza, Picard," Riker said in a low voice. "I think we will be having visitors shortly, if I read our nervous bartender correctly."

Picard sipped at the brew, expecting a truly vile assault on his taste buds, only to find the foaming liquid to be surprisingly pleasant. Despite its green-grey color, the taste reminded him of sweet champagne, more than ale. He had barely finished half the mug when a commotion at the entrance caught the attention of everyone.

"It appears my message was received, Riker said.

Standing in the doorway were two tall men, dressed in garb similar to Riker's except darker in color. Between them was a third figure, shorter by at least half a meter, the face, what of it Picard could see, implied great age, the skin color pasty yellow. A slender hand toyed with the smoking pipe it held clenched in its teeth. Those closest to the door jumped to their feet, and either bowed and offered their chairs, or slipped discreetly into the shadows.

"Obviously a person of some importance," Picard observed casually.

'Importance?'" Riker said, contempt coloring his voice. "Perhaps, if you find power and corruption a source of importance."

"Then this must be Mas Nosivad." Picard was suitably impressed. "I didn't know you had connections is such high' places, Number One." Mas Nosivad was the one distinctive character in Riker's previous report concerning activity on Corvas and had surfaced repeatedly in the reports of the Federation liaison assigned to the sector. "I'd expected him to be different somehow."

"Her," Riker corrected. "Mas Nosivad is Grellier, a hermaphroditic species native to the mountain regions. At this particular stage of its life cycle, it is female."

"Interesting." Picard watched as the crowd parted in front of Mas Nosivad. Regardless of her sex, she was certainly a figure of power, moving with confident grace that belied her size. Every movement spoke of control. Mas Nosivad walked directly towards their table and as her group approached, Riker rose to his feet, his own imposing height offering a silent challenge to the approaching humanoid.

"So, you have not yet learned respect, Riker?" Mas Nosivad asked in a voice that whispered like dry leaves on pavement.

Picard felt a mental and physical chill at the ominous tone before remembering the Grellier were capable of exerting a limited degree of telepathic pressure on a subliminal level. Picard concentrated on the figure before them and relied on Riker's skill to guide them through the initial contact.

"I offer respect where respect is due," Riker answered, tossing back the verbal challenge.

The Mas chuckled, or so Picard thought. It was a half coughing sound deep in her throat.

"That is why I like you, Riker," she said, "Beyond the obvious physical, reasons. You offer a challenge to my talents."

Riker tipped his head in silent acknowledgment of the praise.

The Mas sat in the chair that appeared to materialize beneath her, arranging her robes like royal finery. As she did Riker resumed his seat, leaning casually backward, emphasizing his lack of awe. To a being accustomed to absolute obeisance from all it considered beneath it, the attitude was almost an insult. Yet, the Mas seemed amused. "I did not expect to see you again," Mas Nosivad said, drawing deeply on her pipe. After a significant pause, she added, "so soon."

"Nor I you," Riker responded, gilding the words with liquid charm.

"And this time, you bring friends," the Mas continued, studying Picard and Ro. "More polite, I trust, than the vicious snippet who accompanied you the last time."

In the seat next to him, Picard felt Ro stiffen. Apparently, _she_ was the snippet in question and took exception to the verbal barb. To her credit, the Bajoran remained still and silent, having learned, Picard hoped, from her previous experience on Corvas Seven.

"And so, Riker," the Mas continued, "you have returned. I trust you are well."

Picard could sense the question was moot. The Mas obviously knew Riker was not who he pretended, yet enjoyed the game of cat and mouse.

"Well enough," Riker answered in a firm, quiet tone. Picard almost smiled. Riker too, knew the rules of the game. Intentionally leaning away from the Mas, he spoke so softly she was forced to lean toward him to understand. Picard was beginning to understand how the blunt and forward Ensign Ro had angered the Mas, who obviously delighted in playing pointless games of jab and counter-jab. No wonder the Federation diplomatic liaison had found this personage so frustrating. She knew all the ruses and gambits of high power bargaining and used them to her advantage, twisting them to suit her when the need arose. She would, Picard suspected, prove as devious in reality as she was smoothly tactful on the surface.

"And so, Riker," the Mas's voice was pitched only high enough for those at their table to hear, but Picard recognized the command tone. "What business must we discuss in such surroundings as these that cannot be discussed in the luxury of my own headquarters?"

Riker laughed, and Picard was pleased to note the Mas was not immune to either his smile or his laugh. "Let us just say that, having experienced the luxury of your headquarters, I felt more work would be accomplished in sterner surroundings."

"Neutral ground?" the Mas asked.

"Of course.

"And there is a certain degree of equality established by making me come to you."

"Make?" Riker's eyebrows rose quizzically. "I don't recall making you come here. I simply issued an invitation to talk. An invitation you seemed eager to accept. Perhaps, to find out how your previous plans could go so miserably awry." Riker's voice had lost its coddling tone, the last words spoken with a razor edged sharpness.

For a moment, Picard saw a flash of anger in the Mas dark eyes, before they crinkled as she drew deeply on her pipe, her sallow face calm.

"It was not my intention to see _you _so long detained, Riker. I simply meant to emphasize my position in these negotiations."

"You intended on bailing me out of jail so I would feel obligated to you."

The Mas nodded in silent acknowledgment of the accuracy of his assumption.

"You were the one responsible for the release of my comrades?"

Again the Mas nodded.

"For that we are in your debt."

"I regret I was unable to affect your release as well, but by the time I learned of your fate," the Mas shrugged, "you had been removed from the jail and spirited away. Unfortunately, my influence was slight in those circles into which you were thrust, and I was unable to assist you. A situation I would like to rectify."

Riker waited for her to continue.

"As I said then, Riker, I had no desire to share your company with another. Not at this time in my cycle."

The implication of the Mas words was quite clear to Picard and from the look on Riker's face, to him as well. Until now, Picard knew Riker had assumed the Mas responsible, in part, for his long incarceration. It seemed he might have been wrong.

"I did not turn you over to the Romulans, Riker," the Mas said, her voice softening, her manner gentle.

Picard wondered how often this side of the powerful lord was seen. Not often, he would wager, as she quickly hid her concern behind the gruff commanding personality they had first met.

Riker was silent. Although Picard knew who Riker's captors had been, the subject had not been open for discussion, for personal as well as security reasons.

"I understand the Romulan commander has no love of Humans," the Mas added, relighting her pipe. The pungent odor of smoke wafted across the table.

Picard felt Ro shift slightly in her seat. She had been uncharacteristically still since the arrival of the Mas. "I also understand," the Mas continued, "she paid highly to have you, and would have paid an even higher price for the one she calls Pi-card. Were I indeed the one who had given you to her, I most certainly would not miss the opportunity to now present her with such a rich prize. It would certainly add considerable wealth to my own coffers, and influence in certain circles." The Mas eyed first Riker, then Picard, knowingly. Whether she really knew who he was or was simply taking a good guess, Picard could not be sure. "Even the snippet would be worth some small purse, I would think. Bajoran are such a rare commodity in the Romulan markets, particularly, young female Bajorans." The Mas puffed a cloud of blue smoke in Ro's direction.

The ensign slowly lowered the hood that had concealed her face. Her dark eyes challenged the Mas, her men and the world in general. Picard felt the need to stifle a smile. Despite the gravity of the situation, he found some humor in the current stand off and imagined these two squaring off. But his mind was quickly brought beck to the task at hand by Riker's next words.

"Were you responsible for my release?" It was a question that had disturbed the younger man for many weeks. Was he released to become the bait to draw in bigger fish, or had the Romulans simply tired of their game.

"As I told you, Riker, I have little influence in that arena though I would dearly like to. I understand the Romulans are lucrative traders, though sometimes injudicious in their choice of trade goods. I believe your release was affected by others who did not wish to see you remain a prisoner—for humanitarian reasons."

At that moment, the bartender scurried over to their table and bent to speak to one of the Mas guards. Glancing nervously from right to left, expecting spies in every cobwebbed corner, the man quickly delivered his message, then resumed his place behind his bar, or more precisely, under it. Picard noted that the man's head bobbed up and down occasionally to survey the terrain, but he did not emerge. The guard, in turn, spoke quietly to the Mas, whose face became even more somber.

"I believe it would be wise to choose another place to continue these talks," she said. "I have it on good authority that our current location may soon become more active."

"You have a true mastery of the art of under statement." Riker stood as he spoke, his hand sliding into the open front of his cloak.

Picard rose as well, his eyes moving toward the door.

Entering was a small army of local security people headed by two unmistakably Romulan captains.

"The local constabulary?" Picard asked his first officer.

"Storm troopers would be more precise." Riker slipped slowly from the booth in which they were seated. It was impossible to move without being seen, but the Mas, and her guards, were already ahead of them, placing themselves between Riker and the oncoming patrol.

"Move now, Riker," whispered one of the guards. "There is a back entrance. You will be taken to the home of the Mas, but you must go now."

Picard did not hesitate, realizing their only other option was to engage the local police. He was not yet prepared to create a disturbance or relinquish their freedom, and though he did not fully trust the Mas, her offer of assistance seemed legitimate. Riker apparently had come to the same conclusion and they walked as discreetly as possible to the back of the barroom.

"The Mas must have been expecting trouble if she had guards posted at the back of the bar," Ro said. "This may be a trap."

"Yes," Picard agreed, "but the other option may well be a death sentence."

"I do not trust her," Ro whispered, indicating the Mas. "Nor do I," Riker agreed, "but she is our only contact, and we will play the game her way until I say otherwise."

Picard could not help wondering if this was a replay of a prior conversation. "This is not the time for debate," he said curtly.

Both Riker and Ro eyed each other in the dim light, and then shoved out into the night. It had rained while they were inside, and the air was sharply chill and damp. Puddles dotted the now wet street, and the alley in which they stood was deserted.

"No cavalry," Riker murmured, then led them toward the end of the alley away from the front of the building they had just vacated. They had hardly gone a dozen meters when a dark figure stepped out of the shadows to block their way. Turning to look over his shoulder, Picard noted other figures had materialized behind them. In the dim light, Picard was well aware of the Klingon blaster held firmly in the hand of the man in front of them.

"You will accompany us," the man said, the weapon never wavered.

Picard heard the soft whine of a fully powered blaster coming from behind him as well. Old weapons, but totally effective, particularly at close range.

"The Mas awaits you."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Ro paced; her feet silent on the thick carpet. Its luxuriant pile cradled her steps, devouring all sound. It had been hours since she had been shown to her assigned quarters, and still she could not sleep. She should rest, she told herself a thousand times. She would need her strength for the next day. Yet, she paced. She could not trust the Mas, nor anyone who lavished such luxury upon themselves. Ro would have preferred a barren cell to this opulence for, despite the richness of its furnishings, this _was_ a cell. The windows were barred against intruders, and the doors locked. Guards were posted, to protect her guests, the Mas claimed, yet Ro wondered if such precautions were to protect herself, Riker and Picard from intruders into the home of the Mas, or to protect the Mas from them.

For the fourth time, Ro forced herself to crawl into the bed that was the center of the room. Slipping beneath the covers she tried to relax, to turn off her mind, which insisted upon careening through the days events, trying to make sense of them, and asking once again, why she had been chosen for this mission. She had been largely ignored in conversations with the Mas, in the plans they had developed with her and afterward. She was distinctly uncomfortable including Mas Nosivad in their mission, but could see no way to avoid it.

Ro shifted again, the soft fabric of the bedclothes sliding across her skin, caressing her with coolness, yet warming her. If these were the quarters of a minor guest, Ro could not begin to imagine the quarters of the Mas. What would such a person, whose wealth and power were built on corruption, find pleasurable? Did she surround herself with similar richness? Did her quarters envelope her in comfort. Did she know what it meant to love anything beyond wealth and power. Could she love, or was she ruled by hormone driven need.

As the evening negotiations progressed the Mas had made it abundantly clear that she would demand payment for any service she rendered. At first the references had been veiled, then gradually they became bolder, more suggestive, until at last she named her price. The payment she demanded was a particular Starfleet officer. Riker had listened to her proposal in silence. Though Ro had been on the _Enterprise _only a short time, she had heard the rumors about Commander William Riker. Tales told behind hands, in giggled whispers, passed from one junior officer to the next. The stories became wilder with each retelling, the exploits more daring, the creatures with whom he had shared his bed, more exotic. Ro had felt an insane twinge of jealousy when she had heard the Mas' proposal, for she had been one of those alien encounters. Seducing him when neither had any recall of who they truly were, it had seemed natural to pursue him. The relationship felt right to her. She had told him she was probably a very jealous lover. She had been more right than she has suspected, and yet, with memory restored, so had the antagonism been restored. The defensive front she presented to all was strongest when she confronted him, as much to hide her embarrassment as for any other reason.

The jolt of jealousy had startled her, made her want to squirm, almost as much as the Mas proposal. The Mas had finally resorted to blunt and graphic terms with which to frame her request—no, her demand, for it was a demand. The Mas would put Riker in touch with the underground elements that had aided his escape if in return, he would bed her. There would be no further strings attached, but the child conceived would become the sole property of the Mas. And that is what silenced Riker, not that he had commented on her prior demands. Ro could sense this was one point on which he would not negotiate. To seduce or be seduced by any female, to use his not inconsiderable charm to effectively diffuse a touchy situation, or facilitate the successful completion of a mission, were not beyond his consideration. But this thought of a child, of another innocent life over whom he would have no influence, nor contact, was out of the question.

It was Picard who spoke for his first officer. Sensing Riker's reticence, Picard had vetoed the suggestion. "I will not bargain with the personal lives of _any _of my crewmembers," he had stated.

The Mas had not been happy. Ro could feel the tension in the room, see the desire on her face, her lips moist as she licked them constantly, the pipe forgotten. Ro had made only a casual study of the Grelliar race, aware they were hermaphroditic, and that there were certain stages of their adult lives in which they were totally at the will of the hormonal changes shifting the sexual orientation of their bodies, but only now did she realize how intense the drive would become. Ro did not envy Riker. She saw a fleeting look of consent in his eyes, but before he could voice his opinion, The Mas had risen and exited the room, anger stiffening her back. The three Federation officers had been left behind. After several moments of silence, a servant had arrived to conduct them to their quarters. Separate quarters, Ro noted, and Riker's removed from hers and Picard's.

Negotiations appeared to have ended. Silence settled around the palatial dwelling. Ro could hear nothing except her own breathing as she lay in unaccustomed softness, unable to sleep. Once during the long night, she had heard the unmistakable sound of voices arguing. She was certain Riker's voice was among them, but she could not be sure. Then the silence came again. Would the Mas assist them, if she did not get her demanded payment. Or would she, in anger, deliver them to their enemies. Was there any real difference between those two options?

Slipping out of her bed for the last time, Ro dressed quickly in the darkness. The sixth sense that had protected her in the past warned her something was amiss. The arguing voices haunted her, though they had been silent for hours. She had just buckled her cape around her shoulders when she heard a soft scratching at her door. Flattening herself against the wall behind it, she steadied herself to attack whoever would enter. Silently, the door swung open. There was no light in the outside corridor to illuminate the intruder, so Ro attacked first, questions could be asked later.

Tumbling to the ground, her arm around the throat of the intruder, she- placed her knee squarely in his back arching it backward, feeling the spine protest. The man beneath her did not struggle. Pulling his hood back, Ro sucked in her breath. Rolling off her opponent, she came to her feet. Picard did not refuse her hand as he rose to his feet.

"Do you greet all your visitors that way," he asked, as he straightened his clothing.

"Captain." Ro was not embarrassed by her instinctive reaction to danger, but she was alarmed. The silence in the great house was oppressive and ominous in its deepness. "I don't believe we are safe here. I have said it before, I do not trust the Mas."

"You are not supposed to, Laren."

Ro was reminded of her cover and the possibility electronic surveillance. Picard had used her given name as a warning, not a token of familiarity.

"Have you heard from...Will," Ro asked cautiously.

"There's been some confusion," Picard said, choosing his words carefully. "His quarters were not in the same wing as ours. I heard voices earlier. I thought his was among them." As they spoke, Picard prowled the perimeter of the room.

To the casual observer, he would appear to be pacing, but Ro knew her captain well enough to know he did not pace. His movement had a definite purpose. As she had done earlier, he was attempting to determine if they were being eavesdropped on.

"I heard nothing," she commented, nodding toward the door.

"Why worry about him? The Mas seems to have a fondness for our bearded friend. You continue to pine over him when he has no interest in you. He barely knows you breathe."

Ro shot Picard a puzzled look. He had stopped his sweep of the room and was advancing on her. She held her ground, uncertain of his motives.

"You worship his every move, but to him you are nothing just another tool in his kit. Let the Mas have him. Come with me instead." Picard had closed the distance between them until he stood a mere arm's length from her. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he stared intently into her eyes, the look on his face in direct contrast to his words. "Forget him. Come with me. This is our chance to be free of him."

Before Ro could withdraw, she found herself locked in a breathless kiss. Pushing Picard away, she started to speak, but he silenced her with a slight nod of his head. He was playing a game, part of this elaborate ruse that was their mission on Corvas, and she must play along.

"I...I don't know," she answered. "I owe him—"

"Nothing," Picard said forcefully. "Come, we may never get the opportunity again. We can both be free of him, but we have to act now."

"The guards. The Mas' security."

"Meant to keep intruders out, not guests in." Picard spoke mockingly, but had taken her hand and was pulling her toward the door. "Please, come with me. You want to escape him as much as I do."

Feigning reluctance, Ro allowed herself to be pulled toward the door. Picard rested his ear against the wood, listening, then led her out into the darkened corridor. Placing his finger against his lips, he warned her to silence. No doubt the Mas' security net was activated out here as well. Let them assume they were lovers escaping an untenable situation. Only the Mas herself, knew their true identity and purpose.

In the corridor, they crept along the wall, Picard leading the way. Ro knew the direction to the main gate, but Picard was not leading there. What was his plan? She could only trust him and play along. They had safely traversed three corridors when an ominous click behind them chilled Ro to the bone. She felt Picard stiffen, and as one they turned. Behind them, stood the Mas, her face suffused with fury.

"Leaving us so soon?" The Mas harsh voice grated against the silence. "After I showed you the best of my hospitality. How thoughtless, Captain Picard."

"Apparently," Picard said icily, "we did not leave soon enough."

Behind the Mas'guards stood half a dozen heavily armed Romulan warriors, and from their midst stepped an old foe. "The Mas may be upset by your behavior, Picard, but I am pleased you did not depart before we had the chance to meet again."

Ro studied the officer standing before them. She had heard of fair-haired Romulans, but they came only rarely into the world and even more rarely achieved rank or power. The commander's hair was the color of bleached straw, and Ro had the distinct impression Picard had dealt with this particular enemy before.

"Sela," Picard said. Straightening, he tugged the bottom of his tunic into place, wearing the simple fabric with the same self-assurance that he donned his command colors. "I would like to say it is a pleasure. We both know otherwise."

"We were betrayed," Ro hissed through clenched teeth as she and Picard were hustled down the corridor and into the front courtyard of the Mas' dwelling. "The Mas turned us over to the Romulan."

Picard did not answer. He scanned the open area, searching, Ro assumed, for Riker. Where had Commander Riker gone? Had the Mas truly kept him for her pleasure, or was he also a prisoner of the Romulans? She did not have time to look as she was shoved roughly into the back of one of the Mas' land vehicles.

The vehicle began to move shortly after she was inside. Ro could feel it bouncing over the cobbled court. They had been separated when they reached the courtyard, and Ro could only assume Picard, and possibly Riker were in a vehicle similar to this. She could not see out of the windowless seat. Though her hands were unbound and she had explored every inch of the interior, she was unable to find the barest seam to indicate an opening much less a hatch release. The vehicle made numerous turns and stops, and Ro could almost envision the journey through the darkened, but never deserted streets of Corvas Seven. She wondered if anyone was curious about who was passing, wondered if she would see the captain and first officer again, and plotted her escape at every turn, biding her time. She had heard tales of Romulan captors, but she had survived Cardassians and would survive this as well. As she traveled in darkness, she wondered, not for the first time why she had been included on this mission, and was relieved that this time, perhaps, their capture had not been due to her indiscretion.

When they arrived at their destination, the cold light of dawn had crept over Corvas' grimy horizon. As the door to her mobile prison irised open, Ro emerged slowly into the grey light, every sense alert, every muscle tensed to spring. She was tired from her sleepless night, but she was accustomed to lost sleep and pushed the tiredness to the back of her mind. She quickly scanned for the captain but found she had arrived alone. Alone, that is, except for her armed escort made up of both the Mas forces and the Romulans.

The guards prodded her, not gently, toward the single door in the stone face of the building in front of which the vehicle had stopped. Her captors were silent, moving with accustomed familiarity as they herded her through the darkened foyer, into a lift at the end of the hall, and began a seemingly endless descent. Though Ro sensed downward movement, she could not begin to guess how deeply they had traveled. When the lift stopped, they emerged into a dank corridor roughly cut from the stone beneath the surface of Corvas Seven. The lift that had brought them was in rude contrast to the medieval air of the ancient corridor. Stopping before a heavy, metal bound wooden door, more suitable to the atmosphere of the place, Ro's silent guard indicated she should enter. Seeing no option, she complied. The door closed behind her, and for a moment she stood, blinking in the subdued light.

"We were wondering when you would arrive." The cultured voice from the deep shadows of the chamber did not surprise her. "I thought it would be wise to warn you before coming at you out of the darkness. Join us. The accommodations are simple but you can rest."

Ro opened her mouth to criticize his casual attitude, then snapped it shut without saying what was on her mind. Every ounce of her screamed to fight back—to resist insome way. At the far side of the room, against the cold stone wall, were two hard cots. Picard indicated she should occupy one. On the other lay a still figure. Ro could not make out his features in the darkness, but Picard nodded an affirmative to her wordless question. So, Commander Riker had rejoined their party. Somehow, the thought that they were together again added some slight hope to their situation.

"Is he all right?"

Picard nodded again. "For now. He appears unharmed, but extremely tired."

Ro sensed the Captain's reluctance to elaborate. What did he expect to happen? It did not require a great deal of imagination to answer her own question.

Ro sat gingerly on the edge of the unoccupied bunk. Picard slid down the wall and squatted easily on the floor, relaxed, yet vigilant, watching over Riker as he slept. Ro lay down, even closed her eyes, but her mind raced. Finally, knowing sleep would continue to elude her, she rolled over to face Picard. He sat, eyes closed, a look of repose on his features.

"You have met her before?" Ro asked softly.

Picard opened his eyes, staring ahead. For the barest instant, he seemed sad. "Yes. We have met."

"In combat?"

"After a fashion." Picard said no more on the subject. Instead, he closed his eyes. "I suggest you get what rest you can, Ensign."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A small army escorted them from their cell some time later. They were not bound, but they were outnumbered by well armed Romulans. Picard found himself covertly studying his first officer in the dim light of the corridor. During the preceding hours they had talked little, and Picard had had little opportunity to gauge his friend's status. He had been incarcerated for several hours before Picard was locked into the cell with him. Apparently the ruckus Ro had heard during the night at the Mas' residence was Riker being spirited away. He had been kept in isolation until Picard's arrival, certain that his captors were the Mas' henchmen. He had not known of the Romulan involvement, though he suspected it. Picard could tell the information had not set well, but Riker had quickly clamped down on anything he might have said. They were where they needed to be. Discussion would not change what was going to transpire from here on. Any discussion necessary had taken place on the _Enterprise._

The door to which they were led slid open. As they were escorted in Picard felt his first officer stiffen, heard his soft intake of breath. Picard wanted to turn to him, but instead faced the woman who sat at the desk. Picard stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of his officers. Sela rose from her chair with silent powerful grace. A ghostly smile touched her lips, but her eyes were ice as she stood studying her prisoners.

She paused before Picard, then brushed past him, barely glanced at Ro before moving to Riker. Picard had to turn to watch her.

Sela circled Riker, her hands clasped behind her back, her pace slowly measured. Picard found the stance and cadence of her movements as hauntingly familiar as her face. She reminded him so much of her mother, but any resemblance beyond her physical attributes seemed lost. Sela had denied and buried her mother's moral spirit. In its place she had nurtured a vindictive hatred of all things Human—a hatred she seemed determined to direct fully at her hapless captives.

"You seem well, Commander." Sarcasm dripped from the formal courtesy of her words.

Picard could see the muscles of Riker's jaw clench. He had said nothing since entering Sela's domain, but stood at rigid attention, breathing hard, as though from exertion. Sweat beaded his brow, and Picard, recalling the vividly detailed medical report from Starbase 212 could only imagine what his first officer felt. Picard knew his own reaction would be one of desperate fear. But, he noted with silent pride, Riker held himself firmly in check, even when the Romulan commander casually reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from Riker's forehead. Riker's eyes closed, and he seemed to hold his breath for the briefest moment, but he did not flinch or draw back. The Romulan's gesture spoke of intimate familiarity and a lover's possessiveness.

Sela was smiling as she turned to Picard, and the uncharacteristic expression spoke volumes of the pleasure she derived from the situation. Picard felt a desperate need to save his first officer and Ensign Ro any further torment or humiliation. They were in this situation because he had felt it essential they volunteer.

"Captain Picard?"

Sela's words interrupted Picard's thoughts. His eyes went from the Romulan to his officers, then back to the Romulan.

"I am so glad you have seen fit to return my 'bird in the hand.' I was quite annoyed when he was spirited away from my care."

"Bird in the hand?" Ro asked.

Sela spun on the Bajoran ensign. "Yes, Ensign, I'm told that is the proper expression."

_How alike they are, _Picard thought as the two stood toe to toe. Ro would not back off, nor would Sela, and for a moment, they exchanged silent challenge. They were more alike than they imagined, one dark and slender, the other equally fair, and each as hard as razor edged steel. A fair match despite the Romulan's physical strength, Picard thought, placing a silent wager on his Bajoran ensign.

"Didn't he tell you the tale?" Sela asked, again feigning to be the gracious host. "How thoughtless of you, Will Riker. It's a pet name, Ensign. Something that came of a conversation Commander Riker and I had the last time he was able to keep company with me. I'd expressed my disappointment that Captain Picard could not be with us, and explained to him the Romulan belief that killing one enemy while loosing another is preferable to not killing at all. Commander Riker reminded me of an old Earth expression about 'a bird in the hand being worth two in the bush.' I think the meaning is essentially the same. Now, I not only have my bird in the hand, I also have the two from the bush."

The Romulan turned her attention back to Picard, studying him with the same unnerving intensity she had devoted to Riker moments before. From the corner of his eye Picard saw Riker take a step towards them, but before he could caution his first officer to remain in his place, Sela spun, her hand lashing out, striking Riker in the face, the force of her blow knocking the taller man backward and to the floor. Ro leaped forward and at the same instant four Romulan guards burst through the door. Ro dropped in mid-leap. Picard hoped she had realized the folly of attacking Sela on her own ground, though he could see the frustrated rage etched on the dark haired woman's face. She turned instead toward Riker, but the guards tore her away from him and hauled her to her feet, before they dragged Riker upright, pinioning his arms behind his back.

"So foolish, Commander," Sela purred. "Are you so conditioned to protecting your captain that you must always place yourself in harms way to defend him?"

Riker did not answer.

"And look, you've made me hurt you." Sela wiped at the blood trickling from the gash on Riker's cheek. The area around the gash was already purpling into a bruise. "But that is easily fixed, is it not, Riker?"

Picard saw his first officer blanch, the initial crack in his carefully controlled calm. "Which do you prefer, Picard, an arm or a leg?"

Sela's non-sequitur question caught Picard off guard. A situation he dared not allow. Sela was too devious, and he too experienced to be thrown off by her deception. He made a mental effort to block Riker's past experience from his mind, he could not afford to dwell on what had, or might, happen. They both were here because of a greater priority. His friendship with Will Riker had to take a back seat, or they would all pay highly.

"I asked a question, Captain. Which do you prefer, an arm or a leg?"

"Explain yourself," Picard commanded, changing the tone and timber of his voice to imply he was addressing an officer of lesser rank. _Two can play the dissembling game, _he thought.

Sela did not miss the change in his demeanor. She smiled and nodded approval. "To be specific, Captain Picard, were an officer under you command to suffer an injury, which would allow him to continue to function with the least reduction in his efficiency. A broken arm or a broken leg?"

"Neither injury would be acceptable. That officer would report to Sickbay to have the injury treated."

"But what if he was absolutely essential to the completion of your mission and could not be released from duty?"

Picard did not answer, knowing he was being baited.

"Picard, you are not going to play the game are you?" Sela rocked back on her heels, her hands again clasped behind her back. "Well, Captain, in my experience, I have found a broken arm to be less debilitating, but I suppose that would depend on what said officer was expected to do. In this case he really is expected to do nothing, except survive."

Sela turned and nodded to the two Romulans holding Riker. "Please escort the commander to the laboratory."

Hopelessly outmatched by his captors, Riker was pushed toward the door, the Romulan guards heedless of his resistance as a child is heedless of an insect. "And when you arrive," Sela added casually, staring at Picard, waiting for his reaction, "break _both_ his arms."

"No!" Picard commanded.

The guards holding Riker paused at the door.

Picard stepped toward Sela, but found his way blocked by a burly Romulan. "He has done nothing—"

"--to deserve punishment?" Sela finished mockingly. "He is a Human. That is reason enough."

"If you need a guinea pig, then take me," Picard dared.

Sela laughed. "I would gladly have you in his place, Picard, and in time I will. But I've already invested far too much time in Riker. All of those lovely transporter patterns carefully stored. Every one, Riker. Do you remember them? I do. You will soon. Now take him away."

The Romulans led Riker from Sela's office far more aggressively than was necessary.

Picard faced his adversary, seething with helplessness, caught in the exact position he had hoped to avoid, but knew was inevitable.

"As soon as the chamber, and Riker, have been prepared." Sela said casually, "I will gladly show you my little experiment."

As if on cue, Picard heard a brief scream, muffled by distance and stone walls, but unmistakably a cry of pain, animal in its intensity, Human in its desperation. The cry was repeated, and Picard glanced towards Ro, equally startled by the string of epithets she directed towards the Romulan. He had never seen his volatile ensign express such savagely raw emotion, nor had he felt so keenly in tune with her rage.

"Come now, Captain," Sela indicated the door. "Your friend won't want to wait too long for your arrival."

XXXX

Ro struggled as she and Picard were lead from the Romulan woman's office. Her efforts gained her nothing but bruised arms, yet it felt good to vent her long pent fury on something. She simply could not understand why Picard allowed them to be taken so easily. It would have been a simple matter to elude the Romulan militia, if they had just allowed her to follow her instincts. Then, Ro remembered quite painfully, the results the last time she had followed her own head. Riker had paid the price with months of captivity, and then told her she had done exactly what he had expected her to do. So why not this time? Did Picard want them to be captured? Had Riker been aware since the beginning of their mission that he would be placed in jeopardy again and still willingly volunteered for the task?

If that was the case, they why had she been included on this away team? What use had they made of her talents? They had not even seen fit to inform her of the purpose of their mission, and it rankled that they did not trust her fully. Yet, both men had shown her the utmost respect, had not criticized her actions, and in fact had praised her resourcefulness. Even Riker, whom she had sworn was determined to see her out of Starfleet, had proven to be both tolerant, and respectful of her abilities. Had she seriously misread her first officer? Had she mistaken his sharp discipline for a personal vendetta against her? Perhaps, it was her own defensiveness that had caused friction between them in their earlier dealings. Though the walk from the commander's office to the transporter chamber was relatively short, Ro's mind churned from one disquieting thought to another. She forced herself to concentrate on their current predicament, forcing to the background all the conflicts that may have existed between herself and her fellow officers. The most important priority now was to stay alive, and to find escape for them all.

Ro was unable to think further. With avicious shove, her guard pushed into a semi-darkened room. Recovering her balance, she spun on her captor, but was quickly hustled behind an elaborate control console. Studying the equipment, some familiar, some not, Ro knew the board before her was a transporter console though it was unlike any she had dealt with before. This Romulan version was far more complex, containing input and measuring devices more reminiscent of a medical facility than a transporter room. Her attention was diverted from the mechanism as Picard was jostled into position beside her. She turned to look at him and was startled by the expression on his face, more startled by the single expletive that escaped him, before the long-practiced facade of cold command slipped over his features. He looked like a man who had just seen his best friend skewered and she turned in the direction he had been staring to discover the comparison was not entirely wrong.

Riker stood on what was obviously a transporter grid. _Barely stood_, she told herself. The commander's face was ashen gray and he swayed as though the effort of remaining upright was taxing all his strength. On the verge of shock, he at first appeared uninjured until she realized both his lower arms hung at awkward and impossible angles and _realized _again that Riker knew from the beginning of this mission, he could possible end up in the position he was now in. It seemed inevitable, as she remembered the events of the past days, and yet he had proceeded with the calm courage that was his trademark.

"This is my experiment," Sela said, sweeping into the room, as her warriors snapped to rigid attention. She issued quick commands in Romulan, and her assistants resumed their places. "It might interest you to know, Picard; the basic principle employed here was derived from a technique pioneered by your own engineers on board the _Enterprise."_

"We have never subjected our enemies to deliberate physical abuse," Picard answered calmly.

"Of course you haven't. You fancy yourselves to be far too noble to indulge in deliberate torture. Your methods are much more subtle. We Romulans prefer a direct approach. But, I was actually referring to the basic transporter technique we are about to demonstrate. I am pleased to say, without Commander Riker's help, we would not have been able to fine tune our apparatus. Unless, of course, we used another volunteer. He has explained it all to you, of course, Captain." Sela paced slowly back and forth in front of the transporter chamber as she spoke. Stepping up to the platform, she circled Riker, as a cat stalks a wounded mouse, taunting it with the threat of imminent torment.

"I will explain it to you again," she said, her voice low and teasing. She paused, running a single finger down the side of Riker's face, caressing it. When she turned to Picard and Ro, the Bajoran found herself revolted by the icy deliberateness of Sela's actions.

"I believe the events I am about to recount occurred prior to your arrival on the _Enterprise, _Ensign. During the second year of her mission, she encountered a group of scientists who were suffering from a disease that caused rapid, pre-mature aging. The CMO of the _Enterprise_ was herself infected, and in order to regenerate her health, a unique solution was tested. By comparing a sample of the doctor's pre-infection DNA to her infected state, they were able to filter out the infecting agent on the molecular level while the doctor was held in a transporter beam.

"Our theory is somewhat different. We began with a transporter pattern of a whole and healthy subject, superimposed over that is the pattern of the same subject after an injury has occurred. The patterns are compared, concentrating on the site of the injury. We are learning to manipulate the transporter pattern itself while it is in the pattern buffer, repairing the damage so deftly the injury is undetectable, because the healing is accomplished on the molecular level.

"Our surgeons are quite optimistic the process will aid in curing many ills. Our engineers have even studied the potential use for emergency repair of say, damaged dilithium crystals. Our military and security leaders; see other applications. We have found the process can be reversed once the patterns are recorded and stored." Sela paused, allowing her words to sink in. "Such a subtle form of interrogation, don't you think? Each time you transport out, you don't know what will be broken when you return. And we have Commander Riker to thank for our understanding of this potential. Many repetitions of the process were necessary. Many different injury patterns were recorded." There was a moment of dramatic silence as Sela let the full implication of her words sink in.

Ro glanced at Riker. His face was taut, pale, a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. She knew he was battling to hide the pain, but he made no effort to hide the rage smoldering in his dark blue eyes. This woman had almost broken him. She had failed. She would fail again.

Sela stepped down from the transporter pad, nodding to the technician at the operator's station and stood in front of Picard. "We want to expand our understanding of these techniques to Romulan physiology as well as Human. That is why we have decided to conduct further tests, this time on a Vulcan, since their physiology is almost identical to ours. We are fortunate to have a volunteer who is equally interested in scientific pursuits."

Ro felt the slightest motion from Picard—a stiffening of the muscles in his left arm. Ro was surprised to hear Picard chuckle.

"I've heard your tactics called many things, Sela, but never 'scientific research'. The notion is quite laughable."

Sela's face hardened.

"Regardless of how you justify the method, the result it still torture." Picard's voice had lost its humor. "Since you've found a new subject, you would appear to have no further use for my officer."

It was Sela's turn to laugh. "Is this where you offer yourself in their place yet again? How noble. How Human." Sela's tone oozed contempt. "On the contrary, Picard," Sela continued, "there is still much we can learn from a Human subject and a Bajoran as well. Besides, I have established a certain rapport with Commander Riker. He understands exactly what I want. I plan on enjoying his company a bit longer."

Sela nodded her head and Ro and Picard were hustled from the experimental chamber. As they were shoved roughly through the door, Ro heard the distinct hum of a transporter.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

(My apologies to everyone who has waited very patiently for this final part. And my thanks to all who have taken the time to review and comment on the preceding chapters. I hope the wait was worth it.)

Chapter 8

Riker swayed, unsteady and off balance, as the last remnants of the transporter effect released him from its grip. The room around him slowly came into focus, and he fought to stay on his feet. How long had it been? Time had stopped hours ago. Each time Sela's technicians began to manipulate the control console, each time the world faded, he wondered if he would survive. At times, Sela was present, taunting or silent, and then she would be gone. There was no pattern to her absences.

As his eyes readjusted to the dim light and he was able to look around the darkened room, he realized Sela had returned, and stood now in the shadowed recesses of the room, her blond hair a ghostly shimmer in the subdued light. He also realized, with a sudden stomach wrenching lurch, the nature of the injuries inflicted by her latest whim. With realization, came the memories he had fought so hard to bury. _No, _he thought, caught in a tightening web of despair, _not this. _His thoughts must have shown clearly on his face, because Sela smiled, a demonic, twisted grin, as she stepped out into the light.

"You do remember," she said, licking her lower lip. Moving with her as she stepped onto the transporter platform wereher ever present Romulan guards. Riker wanted to deny her words and what they implied, as he had chosen to deny what she had subjected him to. But he was not going to be given that choice. As the Romulan guards stepped up on either side of him he struck out, all of his anger, shame, and frustration backing the double fisted blow aimed at the guard on his right, but intended, in his mind, for Sela. He was able to land another blow, into the midsection of the second guard, before the first, regaining his balance, captured his arms from behind. The ensuing struggle was briefly one sided as he was brought to his knees, in front of Sela, his arms held in an unbreakable grip.

The Romulan woman studied him carefully, as though time and distance had made him a stranger or a new toy to be explored. Her first reaction to his attack on her guards had been anger at his audacity, followed by a crooked smile that implied approval of his actions. Reaching out she drew her fingers slowly across his cheek, resting briefly on his lips and throat, caressing his face He reflexively pulled back, repulsed by the familiarity of the physical contact. Her touch left an icy knot in the pit of his stomach. The guards hauled him to his feet once more, and Sela moved forward, grabbed the front of his thin Corvan shirt and tore open the fabric, with a slow movement, intended as much to emphasize her strength and dominance as to humiliate.

Riker held his head up, stared straight into Sela's hard sapphire eyes, and resisted the urge to look down. He knew what he would find if he did - a criss-cross of savage welts covering his chest and abdomen, mirrored on his back and arms, that throbbed now, as the numbing urgency of the first surges of adrenaline were beginning to drain from his system. The lash marks were particularly painful when she found them with her nails. Blood rose to bum hotly on his cheeks, as the nightmare of degrading memories crashed back on him, a tidal wave of emotion he had struggled to suppress. This was _not _supposed to happen. But it had, over and over. Pain alone he could have handled. What had sent him deep into a shell of denial, a denial so intense even Starfleet medical never determined the true cause, was the humiliation of being helpless, and completely at Sela's mercy. Of being raped, physically, spiritually, emotionally. Not just once.

And it always started with this.

He had prayed this time it would be different.

As he looked down into the glitter of Sela's eyes she spoke. "Take him to my quarters. Make sure he's securely bound."

Without a word, the Romulan guards forced him toward the door. He looked back, over his shoulder, to where Sela stood in the overhead light from the transporter. Her smile held no mercy.

Ro prowled the perimeter of the cell checking every crack, crevasse and loose stone twice, testing the door, its hinges and the lock, to no avail. As she worked her way methodically around the room, Picard sat watching her, calm and reserved as always, and Ro wanted to scream at him. What was he waiting so patiently for, a sign from the prophets, some mystical revelation, a miracle that would release them from their prison? What did he know that he had not told her, that made him wait so calmly while Commander Riker—Ro blocked the thought from her mind. They had heard nothing from their companion since they had been pulled from the lab. Time had become a meaningless jumble, but by her best estimate, that had been at least two days ago. The prison around them was so silent they could have been its only inhabitants. Perhaps they were, perhaps, they had been abandoned, for there was no movement, no sound, and no guards pacing in the corridor outside. Nothing. Ensign Ro assumed Riker was still alive since neither she nor the captain had been sent for and the Romulan woman seemed much too interested in the commander's company to kill him too quickly. She glanced at Picard, when she hoped he was not watching her and thought she had seen concern on his face. Whatever he felt, he had totally submerged the emotion within himself. It was Picard's continued inaction that puzzled Ro the most. They had walked into a trap in which their roles had seemed so obvious. Riker was the bait, Picard the prize, and what was she? She had asked herself the question a thousand times.

'Ensign," Picard spoke softly, his face veiled by shadows "I suggest you conserve your energy."

"For what?" Ro snapped, having endured his calm far too long. "For my turn in Sela's laboratory?

Picard raised his hand to divert the verbal tirade she ached to release, he seemed to be listening for something, and when she held her breath, she detected a faint scratching outside the heavy door. The tiny sound captured all Picard's attention. Picard rose to his feet and stood several feet from the door, facing it. Ro moved silently into position behind the door should it open and reveal any surprises. Finally, it swung silently inward. _Silently, _Ro noted, _like everything else in this damnable place. _Surely the hinges should creak and groan under the weight as would befit the setting.

Ro snatched her wandering thought back as a Romulan guard stepped into their cell. He stood with his back to the open door. Making no move to draw the weapon holstered at his side, he extended his left hand toward Picard. Nestled in his open palm lay a flat silver coin. Picard lifted the coin and examined it briefly. A small measure of relief lifted the austere mask from his features, relaxing them, then Picard nodded curtly, and Ro sensed the waiting was over. Although it had not been a sign from the prophets, Ro instinctively knew the time for action had arrived, and she was ready.

"The Vulcan is being held in Corridor SWS," the Romulan said softly. He glanced furtively over his shoulder as though expecting to be eavesdropped upon. "I have disabled the electronic listening devices in this corridor.' He reached out and placed a hand on Picard's shoulder. "We are depending upon you to remove the Vulcan. Take him to a place of safety. My people need him and others who share his beliefs if we are ever to be re united with our brothers. If we are ever to find freedom from this oppressive yoke we live under."

Picard stooped to gather up his cloak from the floor, swirling it over his shoulders and pulling the concealing hood over his head. "We have to move quickly. Our rendezvous on the surface is less than two standard hours: from now."

"It is not that far from his cell," said the Romulan. "I will lead you there. Then I must return to my post. In forty-five standard minutes, I will sound the alarm that you have escaped."

"What will happen after you take me to the Vulcan?" Picard asked.

"I do not know," answered the Romulan guard. "At that point I can only wish you good fortune. My part is to release you from your cell and take you to him. Another guide will escort you on the next step on your journey. I do not know who that other is. "

Ro listened to this exchange with as much patience as she could muster. "And what of Commander Riker?" She directed the question to Picard. She would not be part of abandoning him again.

Picard stared at her, an undisguised moment of anguish in his dark eyes. A moment so fleeting she almost thought she had imagined it, for the stern isolation of command closed so quickly over his features. When he spoke, his voice was flat. "Our mission is to rescue the Vulcan."

"At any cost?" Ro added bitterly.

"Those are our orders." Picard's look softened for an instant and his voice was barely a whisper. "Will knew the risk. As did you."

Ro looked at Picard, fighting the anger boiling up inside her. "I'm going after him," she said. It was not request for permission. It was a flat statement of fact—a statement of purpose. It did not matter a damn if Picard gave her his permission or not.

"I had hoped you would," Picard said softly.

Ro did not respond at first. In fact, she was prepared to argue her cause if necessary, but the argument died on her lips as she realized what he had said. He had unofficially given her permission to do what she wished.

"Sir?" Ro said quizzically.

"I said I had hoped you would," Picard repeated, "because I _cannot. _I have to convince a certain Vulcan that his best destiny lies with me. I cannot afford the luxury of rescuing my friend."

With his words, Ro realized her purpose. "That was why I was included on this mission, wasn't it?" she asked. "You knew I would..."

Picard nodded. "I knew you would. And hoped I had not read you wrong. I can't order you to rescue Will, but I won't order you to come with me either. And I won't stop you. You know our rendezvous point on the surface." Picard pressed a small object into Ro's hand. It was a flat coin like the one the Romulan had given him. "This contains a homing beacon. Activate it once you have reached the surface, and the _Enterprise _will locate you. The coin will identify you to any of our friends. Good luck, Laren."

With those words, Picard turned and followed the Romulan warrior into the darkened corridor. Ro stood for a moment, staring at the coin in her hand. It was a coin of the Romulan Empire. Slipping it into the top of her boot, she stepped out into the hallway. Moving silently from shadowed doorway to shadowed doorway, Ro worked her way down the corridor. She wondered if the surveillance equipment in these corridors was manned by other "Romulan friends". Whatever the case, she moved as quickly as she could, mentally backtracking to the laboratory which was located on the same level as their cell. They had not been taken to Sela's office after they were removed from the laboratory, so she reasoned she would not have to pass it on the way to the lab. Not that she would have balked at the opportunity to meet with Sela again. On the contrary, she almost wished she would. Years of Cardassian occupation had taught her to despise those who took pleasure in humiliating and torturing others. Sela was one of those.

As Ro approached the solid metal door of the transporter laboratory, she found herself holding her breath, listening for the slightest sound that might signal the approach of guards. The only sound she heard was her own breathing. Pressing against the sealed door, she ached to hear anything that might give her a clue to the personnel strength within. Apparently Sela had grown supremely confident, because she was very lax about assigning guards. Peering through the narrow window in the door, Ro surveyed the inside of the laboratory. She could not se the transporter platform itself, but she could see the control panel, currently manned by a female technician, a Romulan. Ro whispered a silent plea to the prophets that the technician was alone and unarmed. Ro knew she could take one opponent out of action without being seen or heard. More and she risked alerting the security patrols.

Ro eased open the door, and heard the soft hum of the final stages of transporter materialization. She dared not risk a glance at the transporter pad, for she did not want to break her concentration. She heard a choked gasp from the pad area, thought she heard her name croaked by a Human throat raw with effort. She ignored the sound, ignored the pain in it, and continued her advance. But the technician also heard the voice and started to rise from her seat, turning toward Ro as she did. The ensign struck like an asp, catching the Romulan woman in the face with the heel of her hand, stunning her. The Bajoran knocked her unconscious and bound her with her own belt before she looked to the source of the warning voice.

Riker leaned against the wall of the transporter chamber. His pale face wore a stunned expression. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Ensign?" he asked.

"Rescuing you, sir. I think it's called 'the cavalry'."

XXXX

Riker sank slowly to his knees. There was fire in his left side, and his breath came in short gasps as he fought the urge to cough. He knew it would be a wet cough, just as he knew the fire in his side was from fractured ribs. He had tried to call out to Ro, but his breath caught and he could not force himself to speak. He watched from a detached daze as the Bajoran ensign neatly slammed the Romulan technician into unconsciousness. And he damned her efficiency.

"Ro," he gasped, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Rescuing you."

The Bajoran didn't say it, but Riker could almost hear unspoken words 'rescuing you, you idiot', as though it were not painfully obvious what she was attempting. With the quick efficiency reminiscent of a wrangler in an old holo video Riker had watched as a child, the ensign trussed the unconscious technician with her own belt. Before Riker could suck in enough breath to speak again, Ro had commandeered the Romulan's side arm and begun methodically blasting the lab's equipment. He could see the look of grim glee on her face as she destroyed one panel after another. Riker sat back on his heels, too weak to confront her. Finally, she turned to him, her face bizarrely lit by the dying embers that were once Sela's laboratory. Ro stepped quickly to his side.

"Very efficient," Riker choked out.

"Are you able to walk?"

"Yes." Riker pushed slowly to his feet in response to the question. "I would have been a bit more able had you waited about five more minutes."

"Waited about five more minutes?" The Bajoran eyed him quizzically.

"She was in the process of putting me back together again. It appears she is part of the same underground movement that helped me the last time."

Ro glanced at the unconscious form on the laboratory floor and cursed softly.

Riker could no longer fight the urge to cough. The resulting wrenching movement sent shattering waves of pain through him and nearly knocked him to his knees again. Only Ro's supporting arm, kept him upright. He could taste blood in the sputum he brought up while coughing.

"I guess we haven't ruined her cover," Ro said with much more blandness than Riker had ever heard from her.

"No," he agreed, "but it's going to be a lot harder to get me out of here."

"It wasn't ever going to be easy. We have roughly thirty standard minutes before the alarm is sounded to signal our escape. Let's take advantage of the time."

Ro looped his arm over her slender shoulders, supporting him on the side opposite the injured ribs. Riker hated to admit it, but the support felt damned good. And so did the untimely rescue. Moving as quickly as possible, they left the laboratory, carefully closing the door so a casual observer would note nothing amiss.

"I can't be sure what level we are on, but we seem to have two choices—through the front gate, or attempt to back track and follow the captain's route. That is of course, unless you remember the way out?"

"As a matter of fact, I _don't,' _Riker answered.

Riker heard Ro sigh. Whether it was a sound of disgust or resignation, he could not tell, and found he did not care. Despite the problems he may have had with Ro in the past, her arrival has been nothing short of a miracle answered. But the miracle was not complete until they were back aboard the _Enterprise. _Right now, he would settle for escaping Sela's clutches, for not having to return to her transporter hell, or, and he felt the bile of disgust rising in his throat—her quarters. He shuddered.

And Ro paused. "Are you all right?"

"No," he said, trying not to reveal his sudden sense of dread. "I won't be all right until we're out of here."

Ro nodded then began moving forward again.

Riker found he had to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, keeping his balance, and not crying out each time she tightened her grip to steady him. The journey down the deserted corridors of Sela's fortress became a bizarre cavalcade of fear, pain and desperation. He refused to allow Ro to see his inner turmoil, or his physical discomfort. Focusing his mind on the need to escape, he blanked out all other thought, trusting her instinct to guide them to the surface. For all her faults, he knew Ro's strength was her ability to deal with the unexpected, and do it with a wild passion that throve on adversity.

"Just a few more turns," Ro said suddenly breaking the silence that marked their struggle.

"Actually much less than that." The voice echoed from the poorly lit corridor ahead.

Riker felt Ro stiffen, her reaction mirroring his own intense response. The corridor they stood in was empty. A crosswise hallway intersected in a few meters ahead. Behind them was a long, unbroken passage, with no cover or avenue for escape. Riker looked down at Ro, not at all startled by the savage determination etched on her features. They were walking into a trap, and there appeared to be no way out. Slowly he straightened, stepping slightly in front of the Bajoran and standing free of her support. "Back the way we came," he whispered tersely. She might have a chance if she tried it alone. Whatever Sela was, he didn't think she would kill him. Not any time soon. He couldn't say the same for Ro.

He looked again at the Bajoran, her mouth open to protest. He was about to repeat the order, when the rustle of fabric brought his attention to the front. Too late. The corridor ahead was blocked by a mix of Romulan guards and the Mas' henchmen, weapons drawn and ready. He and Ro were ducks in a shooting gallery, with no cover down the long corridor. Ro mumbled softly. A curse no doubt.

Stepping frombehind her guards, Sela paced slowly toward the captive pair. Her pale face was icy with rage. She stopped an arm's length from Riker. "You can't escape me that easily, Riker. I may have let you go once, because I was baiting a bigger trap, but it won't happen again."

Riker showed no outward reaction to her words, but inside his hopes faltered. Had their plan failed? Had Picard been unsuccessful? Had all this been for nothing? Or was she bluffing, luring him out hoping to catch what had already escaped her. He smiled, "I'm all you're going to get, Sela."

The Romulan's face darkened. "Then you are what I will take." Sela raised her hand to signal her men, and then crumpled silently at Riker's feet.

"What the..." Ro blurted.

Startled, Riker had looked down when Sela fell. Now he glanced up the hallway to see the rest of her men in a motionless heap, their bodies blocking the passage. Before either he or Ro could speak again, or move, a silent figure emerged, stepping carefully over the bodies, a Federation phaser held in her hands. Walking to stand over Sela, the Mas laughed softly.

"No," the Mas stated flatly, her words directed to the unconscious woman on the floor. "You have had all you are going to get." Turning the phaser in her hand, she held it out to Riker. "I suggest you move quickly. They will not remain unconscious for long. There is a small private transport waiting at the main entrance. It is unguarded, and ready for use."

"Why?" Ro asked.

The Mas looked at Ro as though seeing her for the first time. "My, my, the snippet. Why, you ask? Because, she took something I wanted." The Mas glanced at Riker, then continued. "And because of this." The Mas opened her thin hand. Resting on her palm was a glittering coin.

Ro bent over, reached into her boot top, and held out an identical coin.

"This is no longer necessary." The Mas dropped the coin onto Sela's body. "Now, you must go." The Mas turned to where the guards lay in a tumbled heap. "But before you do, I must ask one more favor." She indicated the phaser Riker still held in his hand. "I have no desire to ruin a perfectly good working relationship with the Romulans. If you would."

Riker nodded. Thumbing the phaser control to the lightest possible stun, he stepped up to the Mas. "Thank you."

The Mas smiled, "You are not free of me yet, Riker. The cycle will repeat itself, and you will be hearing from me. Until then."

Riker backed off down the corridor, and took careful aim. The Mas dropped lightly to the cushioning bodies of Sela's men. "Let's do as the lady suggested," he said to Ro.

XXXX

Ro slipped her arm from around Riker's waist as she eased him to the bunk in the aft section of the runabout. They had boarded, safely, less than fifteen minutes after leaving the Mas in Sela's underground warren, with barely ten minutes to spare in their rendezvous window. They had encountered no further difficulty. The Mas, evidently, cleared their path well. Riker leaned against the side of the runabout, cradling his arm against his side. Ro watched as the tension drained from his taut features leaving exhaustion in its wake. He would sleep most of the way back to the _Enterprise, _as soon as the adrenaline worked its way out of his system. She slipped quietly away, to the back of the runabout, and when she returned, she held a medical tricorder and emergency medkit. Flipping the tricorder open, she ran it quickly over Riker's still form. As he heard the low hum of the instrument, his eyes opened and he studied her.

"I didn't know practicing medicine was one of your talents," he said dryly.

Ro sat back on her heels, still uncertain of the tone in his voice. Was he teasing her or was he seriously angry. Ro felt her defensive shields rising, then, with a firm thought, forced herself to relax. She had just helped saved this man's life. He had no reason to be angry with her. "Bajorans become skilled at quite a number of things. We have to," she replied more sharply than she had intended. "I was assisting with the wounded before I was twelve. I'm capable of rendering emergency medical aid, unless of course you would prefer I didn't." She had opened the medkit and removed a hypospray. When he did not stop her, she applied it to the side of his neck.

"Don't get defensive," Riker said. "I didn't mean it as a slur. I'm genuinely impressed by your abilities." A smile lit his face as he continued. "Laren, you've got to learn to relax. Take a joke once in a while as a joke, not a personal insult."

Ro was silent, unaccustomed to being on a first name basis with any Starfleet officer. Before either could continue, there was a soft bleep from the intercom near Riker's head. He reached upward and thumbed the response button. "This is Lieutenant Milhause, your pilot. We've just received confirmation from the _Enterprise _that Captain Picard and his companion are safely on board. They thought you would want to know."

"Thank you," Riker responded then smiled again. "Well, Ensign, mission accomplished."

Ro looked doubtful.

"Is something still bothering you?" Riker asked.

"The Mas," Ro answered simply.

"Got exactly what she wanted." Riker finished her statement.

Ro stared for a moment, and opened her mouth.

"No," Riker interrupted her again, "not me. But we'll let the rumor mill chew on that one for a while. Speculation about the how and why should keep things churning and the junior officers giggling for weeks." Riker leaned his head back against the bulkhead.

Realizing her mouth was gaping open Ro shut it quickly, remembering her first encounter with the rumor mill. She had been aboard the _Enterprise _long enough to know the resultant speculation, rather than undermine Riker's authority, would somehow strengthen his position. Humans seemed to like knowing those in charge occasionally had "Human" desires and foibles. Ro studied the first officer. He had closed his eyes again, and she was hesitant to disturb him. She laid a hand gently on his arm, and his eyes opened.

"What _did _she want?" Ro asked.

"The Mas?" Riker asked.

Ro nodded.

"Oh," Riker said blandly, "she wanted me plenty. And wouldn't have said no if I had offered. But what she really wanted was an 'in' with the Romulan military power on Corvas Seven."

"Sela?"

"Sela."

"You knew that?" Ro asked.

Riker nodded somberly. "Though, for a while, I wasn't sure whose holding cell I was in." Riker's voice had begun to slur as the hypospray's contents took over his system. "We made it look as though she went down with the Romulans. Apparently, she was the one who tipped them to our escape attempt. Sela should awaken thinking the Mas is still her confederate. I think the Mas can handle negotiations with Sela herself now that we have opened the door."

"And other than the Vulcan, what did the Federation get?"

"The Vulcan was all they ever wanted." Riker's eyes drifted shut, his chin dropping to his chest. Before he was completely dead weight, Ro eased him down onto the bunk. Then she settled into the seat beside him. He was safe, for now, and perhaps, he would be safe from nightmares of Seta's laboratory, but Ro would still keep watch until they reached their journey's end.

Fin


End file.
